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MY 


Child-Life  in  Burmah 


Recollections  and  Incidents, 


OLIVE  JENNIE   BIXBY. 


BOSTON  : 
PUBLISHED    BY   W.  G.  CORTHELL, 

MISSION    ROOMS. 
1880. 


^-(f^^^pjiJXj^^ 


CARPENTIEH 

Copyright,  1880, 
By  W.  G.  CORTHELL. 


Stereotyped  and  Printed 

By  Raftd,  Avery,  6r»  Company ^ 

J17  Franklin  Street^ 

Boston. 


INTRODUCTION. 


To  the  literature  of  Christian  missions  in  foreign 
lands,  there  have  been  added  of  late  frequent  and 
excellent  contributions.  It  is  a  cheering  fact,  that 
the  number  of  those  who  read  books  treating  of 
heathen  communities,  and  of  the  labors,  the  struggles, 
and  the  achievements  of  the  heroic  men  and  women 
who  have  been  and  are  now  engaged  in  the  noble 
work  of  propagating  the  gospel  of  Christ  in  unevan- 
gehzed  countries,  is  being  rapidly  multiplied.  The 
geography,  the  topography,  and  the  natural  produc- 
tions of  the  lands  to  which  missionaries,  in  increasing 
numbers,  are  being  sent  from  Christian  countries ;  the 
political  governments,  the  social  customs,  the  home 
life,  the  moral  condition,  the  religious  worship,  and 
the  spiritual  destitution  of  the  dominant  nations  and 
numerous  subject  tribes  among  whom  missions  are 
being  planted,  —  are  more  extensively  and  far  better 
known  to-day  than  ever  before.  As  a  result,  there  is 
a  more  prevalent,  intelligent,  and  fervid  zeal  among 
Christians  in  Christian  lands,  to  enlighten  and  save 
the   benighted   and    perishing   millions    of   souls  in 


M629354 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

heathen  lands.  Let  such  books  be  multipHed  and 
read,  let  such  knowledge  as  they  convey  be  more 
widely  and  rapidly  disseminated  in  Christian  churches 
and  family  circles  at  home,  and  we  may  confidently 
anticipate,  as  the  outcome  of  an  advancing  acquaint- 
ance with  missions,  a  more  general,  vigorous,  and 
efficient  prosecution  of  the  grand  work  of  the  world's 
evangelization. 

The  manuscript  of  this  unpretentious  volume,  now 
to  be  sent  forth  on  its  errand  of  instruction  and  useful- 
ness, was  placed  in  my  hands  by  its  author,  with  the 
request  that  I  would  examine  it ;  and,  if  upon  exam- 
ination I  should  think  it  worthy  of  publication,  she 
would  have  me  write  for  it  an  introduction.  The 
manuscript  I  have  read  through  with  unabating  inter- 
est ;  and  it  gives  me  unfeigned  pleasure  to  perform  the 
slight  service  which  has  been  asked  of  me. 

The  writer,  who  here  tells  the  story  of  her  child- 
hood passed  with  her  worthy  missionary  parents  in 
Burmah,  presents  herself  before  the  public  in  the 
capacity  of  an  author,  with  very  great  hesitation.  It  is 
simple  justice  to  say  in  her  behalf,  that  she  has  found 
it  difficult  to  overcome  her  reluctance  to  prepare  this 
narrative  for  publication.  She  has  braced  herself  to 
the  task  under  appeals  and  encouragement  from 
friends,  who  heard  her  read,  at  a  woman's  missionary 
meeting,  a  brief  paper  in  which  she  simply  attempted 
to  give  a  few  reminiscences  of  her  early  life  among  a 
heathen  people.    Those  friends  felt  persuaded  that, 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

with  such  amplification  as  that  paper  was  capable  of 
receiving  at  her  hands,  she  could  make  a  book  that 
was  much  needed,  and  might  be  eminently  attractive 
and  useful  in  Sunday  schools  and  family  circles.  Thus 
prompted  to  extend  her  effort  in  that  direction,  and 
encouraged  to  hope  that  she  might  render  some  valua- 
ble service  to  the  cause  of  missions,  she  proceeded  to 
make  a  larger  draft  upon  her  memory,  and  to  call  up 
such  scenes  and  incidents  in  her  child-hfe  in  Burmah 
as  are  found  described  in  the  following  pages.  She 
has,  we  think,  performed  the  task,  undertaken  at  the 
solicitation  of  others,  with  admirable  simplicity  and 
directness.  In  a  style  unaffected  and  lucid,  she  pre- 
sents simple  facts,  making  no  attempt  to  attain  to  the 
romantic  and  sensational,  though  that  were  easy  and 
allowable  with  siich  materials  as  she  had  at  her  com- 
mand. But  she  gives  us  a  map  instead  of  a  painted 
landscape.  Macaulay,  contrasting  two  methods  of 
writing  history,  remarks,  "  The  picture,  though  it  places 
the  country  before  us,  does  not  enable  us  to  ascertain 
with  accuracy  the  dimensions,  the  distances,  and  the 
angles."  The  map,  he  proceeds  to  say,  "  presents  no 
scene  to  the  imagination,  but  it  gives  us  exact  infor- 
mation as  to  the  bearings  of  the  various  points,  and  is 
a  more  useful  companion  to  the  traveller  or  the  gen- 
eral than  the  painted  landscape  could  be."  The 
author  of  this  book  on  "  My  Childhood  "  is  evidently 
and  supremely  intent  on  presenting  her  readers  with 
"  exact  information,"  aiming  at  verity,  simplicity  and 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

usefulness,  rather  than  embellishment,  picturesque- 
ness,  and  fascination.  But  we  venture  to  say  that  all 
who  shall  begin  to  read  this  book  will  continue  to 
read  to  the  close.  It  deserves,  and  we  hope  it  will 
have,  a  wide  circulation. 

w.  s.  Mckenzie, 

District  Secretary,  A.  B.  M.  U. 
Boston,  June  22,  1880. 


PREFACE. 


On  board  the  sailing  ship  "  Ino,"  May,  1856,  off  the 
coast  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  a  missionary  was 
walking  the  floor  of  his  cabin,  carrying  in  his  arms  the 
tiny,  wasted  form  of  his  infant  child ;  while  in  the  berth 
near  by  lay  the  fond,  suffering  mother,  unable  to  min- 
ister to  the  simplest  wants  of  her  babe.  Deprived  of 
all  natural  nutriment,  and  sustained  only  by  the  sweet- 
ened, soft-boiled  rice,  prepared  by  the  father's  hand, 
the  life  of  the  sick  child  hung  by  a  very  slender  thread. 
The  mother's  feet  were  even  now  bathed  in  the  first 
rippling  waters  of  the  river  of  death  ;  but,  looking  up 
into  the  face  of  him  who  was  almost  crushed  by  his 
weight  of  woe,  she  said,  "  I  shall  die,  but  little  Jennie 
will  live  to  be  a  solace  to  her  father  when  I  am  gone." 

From  my  earhest  recollection  an  intense  desire  has 
possessed  my  soul  to  consecrate  the  life,  so  wonder- 
fully spared,  to  the  work  of  leading  to  Jesus  the  desti- 


X  PREFACE. 

tute  millions  in  the  land  of  my  birth.     And  if  through 

the  following  pages  any  are  led  to  devote  themselves, 

their  means,  or  their  prayers,  to  this  glorious  cause,  I 

shall  be  amply  repaid. 

THE   AUTHOR. 
Providence,  R.I.,  June  22,  1880. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

BuRMAH,  First  Impressions.  —  Stay  in  Rangoon. — 

Up  the  Toungoo  River 13 

CHAPTER   II. 

Home  of  My  Childhood.  —  The  Bazaar.  —  The  Pa- 
goda.—  Early  Converts 23 

CHAPTER   III. 

The  New  House.  —  Reptiles  and  Insects.  —  The 
Century-Palm.  —  Fruit-Trees.  —  The  Banian. 
Flowering  and  Medicinal  Plants.  —  Cultiva- 
tion of  Rice 31 

CHAPTER    IV. 
The  Animals  of  Burmah 50 

CHAPTER  V. 

Transmigration.  —  Religious   Festivities.  —  Races 

and  Costumes.  —  National  Peculiarities  .       .      (fj 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Heathen  Funerals.  —  The  Priesthood.  —  Buddh- 
ism        79 

xi 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Seasons.  —  Glimpses  at  Missionary  Occupa- 
tions. —  The  School.  —  Mountain-Travel.  — 
Story  of  Moung  Ong 86 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Travel  in  Burmah 98 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Shway-da-Gong.  —  Mah  Mong 106 

CHAPTER  X. 

The   First    Separation.  —  Boghyee.  —  Moung    See 

Dee.  —  The  Padoungs 121 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Seven  Weeks  upon  the  Mountains  ....    132 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Last  Days  in  Burmah.  —  Return  to   America. — 

Missionaries'    Children 164 


MY 

CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 


CHAPTER   I. 


BuRi/iAH,   First    Impressions.  —  Stay  in   Rangoon.  —  Up 

THE   TOUNGOO    RiVER. 

THE  Burman  Empire  lies  between  the 
Salwen  River  on  the  east  and  the  Brah- 
mapootra on  the  north-west  and  north;  while 
its  western  and  southern  shores  are  washed 
by  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  which  separates  it  from 
the. peninsula  of  Hindostan. 

Besides  the  noble  rivers  which  form  its 
boundaries,  its  entire  length  from  north  to 
south  is  traversed  by  the  Irrawaddy,  which, 
after  a  course  of  twelve  hundred  miles,  empties 
by  many  mouths  into  the  Bay  of  Bengal. 
Rangoon,  the  chief  seaport  of  Burmah,  is  sit- 
uated on  one  of  the  mouths  of  this  river,  and 
has  a  fine  harbor. 

«3 


14  MY   CPIILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

Imagine  yourself  on  board  a  British  steam- 
ship, slowly  making  its  way  into  the  harbor  of 
Rangoon. 

It  is  one  of  the  perfect  days  so  well  known 
in  the  tropics.  There  is  a  softness  entirely 
new  to  you  in  the  breezes  that  come  from  .the 
shore,  laden  with  the  breath  of  flowers  and  the 
odors  of  sweet  spices.  There  is  a  profounder 
depth  to  the  fathomless  blue  above,  and  a 
iairer  tint  to  the  fleeting  clouds,  than  you  are 
accustomed  to  see  in  our  dear  New  England. 
Land,  which  a  few  hours  ago  presented  itself 
in  dusky  line  along  the  horizon,  is  now  clearly 
visible.  An  extensive  plain  lies  before  you, 
presenting  the  varied  beauties  of  a  tropical 
landscape.  As  you  approach  the  city,  little 
boats  come  out,  bringing  mangos,  cocoanuts, 
plantains,  and  other  fruits  for  sale.  You  see  a 
confused  mass  of  trees,  iiouses,  and  pagodas, 
rising,  apparently,  to  the  clouds  ;  but  gradually 
confusion  gives  way  to  order.  You  see  dis- 
tinctly the  great  Shway-da-G5ng  pagoda,  whose 
gilded  '' H'tee,'  or  umbrella-top,  glistens  in  the 
sunshine.  You  hear  a  grating  sound  :  it  is  the 
anchor  thrown  overboard,  and  the  cable  paid 
out.  The  noble  ship  that  has  been  your  home 
for  forty  days    rests.     You    clamber  down  the 


ARRIVAL    IN    RANGOON.  1 5 

sides  into  the  ship's  boat,  or  native  sampatty 
waiting  to  receive  you.  A  few  strokes  of  the 
oars  by  the  half-naked,  brawny  boatman,  and 
you  are  clambering  up  the  wet  and  slippery 
steps  of  the  ''fdah,''  or  wharf.  You  hear  the 
hum  and  noise  of  a  busy  city ;  you  are  sur- 
rounded by  dusky  faces,  and  bewildered  by 
strange  sights  and  sounds. 

It  was  thus  that  my  father  and  my  mother 
found  the  long  journey  with  its  perplexing 
changes  over,  and  themselves  on  Burmah's 
shore.  I  was  then  five  years  old,  and  looking 
for  the  first  time  consciously  upon  my  native 
land. 

The  ever- open  door  of  the  hospitable  mis- 
sionary received  us  to  its  friendly  shelter. 

Toward  evening  the  day  after  our  arrival,  my 
father  and  mother,  taking  me  with  them,  drove 
out  to  a  neighboring  village  to  secure  for  a 
teacher  a  man  who  had  been  recommended  to 
them  as  speaking  several  languages.  We  found 
him  surrounded  by  a  group  of  natives,  a  marked 
man  among  them.  Lithe  of  figure,  with  a  bril- 
liant black  eye  and  intelligent  face,  he  seemed 
just  the  one  they  wanted.  He  promised  to  come 
the  next  day ;  and,  true  to  his  word,  he  arrived 
before  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.    It  was  inter- 


l6  MY   CHILD-LIFE   IN   BURMAH. 

esting  to  see  his  awe  and  wonder  as  he  entered 
the  Christian  home,  so  different  from  his  own. 
He  could  hardly  return  the  salutations,  but  sank 
upon  his  heels  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and 
thrusting  his  cigar  into  the  lobe  of  one  ear,  — 
a  beautiful  orchid  ornamented  the  other,  —  he 
gazed  about  the  room.  Arrangements  were 
completed,  and  he  became  my  parents'  teacher 
in  the  Shan  language  during  their  month's  stay 
in  Rangoon. 

Our  home  was  to  be  in  Toungoo,  about  two 
hundred  miles,  by  the  river,  north  of  Rangoon. 
When  the  time  for  our  departure  arrived,  Moung 
Saing,  the  teacher,  wished  very  much  to  accom- 
pany us  ;  but  his  wife  was  unwilling  to  go.  If 
he  left  her  she  would  be  free,  according  to  Shan 
custom,  to  marry  whomsoever  she  chose.  He 
was  ready  to  risk  that,  but  of  course  my  father 
would  not  allow  it.  Not  long  after,  she  died, 
and  he  came  to  us  in  Toungoo.  The  second 
day  after  his  arrival,  he  came  to  the  house  early 
in  the  morning,  his  black  eyes  twinkling,  and 
his  face  all  aglow.  Sitting  down  on  the  floor 
directly  in  front  of  my  father,  he  began  to  talk 
rapidly  and  earnestly.  The  substance  of  his 
communication  was  this  :  He  had  met  among 
our  people,  the  day  before,  a  Shan  woman,  who, 


A   VISIT   FROM    MY   NURSE.  1/ 

with  her  father,  had  just  arrived  from  the  Shan 
States.  He  said  she  was  beautiful  and  interest- 
ing, and  wilUng  to  marry  him ;  and,  if  the  teacher 
did  not  forbid,  he  would  take  her  for  his  wife. 
The  teacher  asked  if  he  was  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted with  her.  "  Oh,  yes !  very  well  ac- 
quainted," he  said:  "he  had  talked  with  her 
the  evening  before." 

It  was  not  exactly  in  accordance  with  the 
Christian  view  of  the  acquaintance  that  should 
precede  a  marriage  that  is  to  be  a  sacred,  last- 
ing obligation ;  but  it  was  native  heathen  cus- 
tom, and  nothing  better  could  be  expected  of 
them.  They  were  married  by  eating  rice  to- 
gether, and  remained  with  us  as  long  as  I  staid 
in  the  country. 

While  in  Rangoon  we  received  a  visit  from 
Mah  Men  Tha,  who  was  my  nurse  during  the 
first  three  months  of  my  life,  for  I  was  born  in 
Maulmain  during  my  father's  first  residence  in 
the  country.  My  nurse  was  very  glad  to  see 
her  *'  mengalayy'  or  little  girl.  She  then  had  a 
nice  family  of  children,  and  was  bringing  them 
up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  my  father  had  com- 
pleted his  arrangements  for  going  up  the  river. 
He  had  hired  a  native  boat,  stored  it  with  pro- 


1 8  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

visions  for  twenty  days,  and  loaded  it  with  sup- 
plies for  future  use  in  Toungoo.  It  had  no  bed, 
chair,  or  table ;  but,  having  spread  some  clean 
mats  on  the  bottom,  we  took  possession  of  it  for 
the  journey.  How  can  I  give  an  idea  of  this 
floating  habitation?  The  Burmans  estimate  the 
size  of  boats  by  the  number  of  baskets  of 
paddy,  or  unhusked  rice,  which  they  will  hold. 
A  boat  that  would  contain  three  hundred  bas- 
kets of  paddy  answered  our  purpose.  It  was 
about  thirty  feet  long.  The  helmsman  occu- 
pied a  high  chair  in  the  stern,  while  at  his  feet 
a  little  coop  covered  with  thatch  served  as  a 
shelter  for  us.  A  large  barrel  tipped  over  on 
one  side,  and  open  at  either  end,  would  resem- 
ble it  in  shape.  A  little  in  front  was  a  place, 
emphatically  sitting-room,  for  the  thatch  roof 
was  so  low  that  no  grown  person  could  stand 
erect.  Our  seats  were  lockers  on  either  side ; 
a  board  placed  from  end  to  end  was  our  table. 
In  this  elegant  style  we  passed  a  little  more 
than  three  weeks.  The  boatmen  with  their 
oars  and  poles  and  chatties  and  rice  occupied 
the  front  of  the  boat.  Rowing  when  the  tide 
was  favorable,  poling  when  there  was  no  tide, 
catching  at  the  stout  grass  and  bushes  on  the 
bank  when  some  quick,  sharp  eddy  would  carry 


A    RIVER    IN    BURMAH. 


19 


UP    THE    TOUNGOO    RIVER.  21 

US  down,  we  made  our  slow,  monotonous  way 
up  to  our  future  home.  The  banks  of  the 
river  were  diversified  with  impenetrable  jungle, 
groves  of  tall  trees,  patches  of  cultivated  lands, 
and  here  and  there  a  village,  a  priest's  khy- 
otmg,  and  a  pagoda.  Most  of  the  pagodas  were 
old,  some  in  ruins  ;  one  in  particular  was  over- 
grown quite  to  the  summit  with  grass,  weeds, 
and  flowers.  Along  the  banks,  as  the  tide  re- 
ceded, we  saw  the  tracks  of  numerous  croco- 
diles ;  and  in  the  eddies,  or  little  pools  which 
the  waters  left,  were  many  little  fish  cut  off  from 
retreat,  which  the  tall  white  rice-bird,  the  bril- 
liant flamingo,  and  the  pouch-billed  pelican 
eagerly  devoured,  or  carried  away  for  their 
young. 

Sometimes  a  huge  crocodile  would  be  seen 
basking  in  the  sun.  What  man  or  boy,  with  a 
gun  in  the  boat,  could  resist  the  impulse  to  fire 
at  him  }  The  surprised  creature  with  a  sudden 
plunge  would  disappear,  but  we  soon  saw  him 
again  floating  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  had  trans- 
pired. 

Monkeys  grinned  and  chattered  in  the  trees, 
sometimes  following  us  along  the  banks,  making 
what  might  seem,  with  a,  little  stretch  of  the 
imagination  on  the  Darwin  side,  frantic  efforts 


22  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

for  the  recognition  of  their  cousins  in  the  boat. 
Indeed,  as  I  recall  the  scene,  the  monkeys,  the 
natives,  and  the  missionaries,  I  am  half  inclined 
to  ask.  Are  we  evolved  ?  But  there  is  this  fact 
for  answer :  the  monkeys  are  monkeys  still ; 
they  grin  no  more  gracefully,  they  chatter  no 
more  grammatically,  than  they  did  ages  ago. 
The  natives,  some  of  them,  are  changed.  In- 
stead of  wallowing  stolid  and  half-nude  in  the 
mud,  they  are  sitting  clothed  and  in  their  right 
minds.  They  have  been  evolved  from  the 
depths  and  darkness  of  heathenism  into  the 
light  of  the  knowledge  of  God. 

The  solitary  palm-tree,  giving  name  to  the 
village  of  Tantabin,  and  the  steep  banks  of  the 
river,  showing  that  we  were  near  Toungoo,  were 
a  welcome  sight.  As  we  approached  the  land- 
ing, we  saw  the  venerable  Dr.  Mason  walking 
up  and  down  the  bank  with  his  step-daughter, 
Miss  Helen  Bullard,  waiting  our  arrival.  The 
sight  of  those  bright  Christian  faces  in  the 
midst  of  heathenism  was  like  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine to  our  hearts. 


HOME    OF    MY    CHILDHOOD.  2$ 


CHAPTER   II. 

Home  of  my  Childhood.  —  The  Bazaar. — Pagoda.  —  Our 
First  House.  —  Early  Converts. 

We  were  now  in  Toungoo,  a  city  dear  to  the 
Burmans  as  the  ancient  capital  of  the  empire,  , 
their  pride  as  a  populous,  thrifty  city,  their  joy 
as  a  centre  for  peaceful  homes.  To  the  English 
it  was  an  important  military  station,  the  last 
taken  by  them  from  the  Burman  king :  it  was 
also  a  centre  of  trade,  consisting  largely  in  tim- 
ber, earth-oil,  salt,  rice,  and  lacquer-work.  To 
the  missionary  it  was  a  hot-bed  of  heathenism, 
the  city  and  district  containing  hundreds  of 
thousands  who  had  never  heard  the  gospel.  It 
was,  nevertheless,  a  hopeful  field.  Refreshing 
dews  of  heavenly  grace  had  already  fallen  on 
the  parched  and  thirsty  ground,  and  showers  of 
mercy  were  yet  in  store.  It  was  to  -/ne  my 
childhood's  home,  beautiful  Toungoo.  Never 
to  be  forgotten  are  the  emotions  and  experiences 
associated  with  it.  Its  picture  is  clear  upon 
memory's  tablet.     Standing  on  the  river's  bank 


24  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

not  far  from  our  home,  and  looking  eastward, 
the  turbid  current  of  the  Sitang  River  rolls  at 
your  feet.  Beyond  it  is  an  interval  of  open, 
cultivated  land,  Burman  and  Karen  villages, 
dense  jungles,  tall  forests,  and  lofty  mountains  ; 
and  spread  ov^r  all  —  sometimes  like  a  filmy 
gauze,  sometimes  like  burnished  gold,  and  some- 
times a  clear  ethereal  blue  —  is  the  eastern  sky. 
Turning  to  the  west,  a  little  streak  of  civili- 
zation—  the  English  department  —  lies  before 
you,  separated  by  a  moat  from  the  crumbling 
walls  of  the  pagan  city.^  Crossing  the  moat  by 
the  principal  thoroughfare,  you  enter  the  city's 
crowded  streets,  and  soon  come  to  the  busy  ba- 
zaar. At  the  entrance  you  notice  the  **  tables," 
with  little  piles  of  rupees  and  other  coins  upon 
them,  and  "the  money-changers  sitting."  Pass- 
ing along  through  numerous  stalls,  you  will  find 
in  one  a  turbaned  Mohammedan  selling  bright- 
colored  handkerchiefs.  In  another,  a  wide- 
trousered  Hindoo  ready  to  serve  you  with  mus- 
lins, calicoes,  and  white  cloth  :  the  larger  the 
number  of  yards  you  buy,  the  higher  the  price 
he  wishes  per  yard.     In  other  places  are  Bur- 

^  This  moat  was  formerly  easily  filled  with  water.  It  is  now 
dry,  and  in  many  places  filled  up,  and  cultivated  with  vegetables 
and  flowers. 


THE   PALACE-GROUND.  2$ 

man  women  with  trays  of  jack-fruit,  plantains, 
oranges,  and  cigars  ;  Shans  with  beautiful  lac- 
quer boxes,  and  coolies  with  odorous  "  nga- 
pee^  ^  Here  and  there  sits  a  Persian,  calmly- 
smoking  his  fragrant  hookah.  Timid  Karens, 
black,  white,  and  red,^  flit  back  and  forth,  mak- 
ing purchases  for  their  mountain  homes.  The 
brisk  Chinaman,  the  sauntering  English  soldier, 
the  proud  Jew,  old  and  young,  boys  and  girls, 
meet  and  mingle,  buy  and  sell,  barter  and  get 
gain.  You  hear  a  jargon  of  voices  that  makes 
you  think  of  the  Tower  of  Babel ;  you  see  sights 
from  which  you  instinctively  turn  away  ;  and  you 
inhale  odors  that  send  you  in  haste,  and  half 
breathless,  into  the  outer  and  open  air. 

Leaving  the  bazaar,  and  passing  through  the 
city  by  the  principal  street,  which  the  English 
government  has  made  a  pleasant  drive,  you  come 
to  the  old  palace-ground,  a  beautiful  level  green- 
sward. Not  a  vestige  of  its  former  grandeur 
remains.  Tall  century-palms  are  growing  from 
the  ruins  of  its  old  wall,  and  native  huts  are 
crowding  into  its  sacred  precincts.     Near  this 

*  Fish  are  spread  upon  mats,  and  exposed  to  the  sun  for  sev- 
eral days.  They  are  then  gathered  up,  and  spices  put  in  to 
arrest  the  decomposition.     It  is  then  potted,  and  kept  for  use. 

*  So  called  on  account  of  the  prevailing  color"  of  "their  dress. 


26  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

ground  is  a  somewhat  remarkable  pagoda.  It  is 
called  Shway-san-davv,  or  the  Pagoda  of  the 
Golden  Hair,  because  it  is  said  that  three  of 
Gaudama's  hairs  were  laid  beneath  its  founda- 
tions. Near  the  pagoda,  as  usual,  is  the  idol- 
house.  The  principal  idol  in  this  is  a  reclining 
image  of  their  dead  and  annihilated  god,  Gau- 
dama.  Smaller  images  in  sitting  posture,  made 
of  marble,  bronze  metal,  brick  or  wood,  gilded 
or  ungilded,  are  placed  in  niches  or  on  shelves 
around  the  walls.  There  are  often  thank-offer- 
ings from  persons  who  have  received  special 
blessings,  as  they  suppose,  in  answer  to  their 
prayers.  Before  the  image  are  placed  little 
wooden  candlesticks,  holding  very  small  candles 
which  are  sometimes  lighted  ;  and  small  carved 
pedestals  to  which  are  fixed  strips  of  paper  on 
which  a  prayer  is  written,  and  thus  continually 
offered,  bringing  great  merit  to  the  suppliant. 
Sometimes  bamboo  sticks,  split  at  one  end  and 
driven  into  the  ground  at  the  other,  hold  these 
continually  offered  prayers  ;  but,  the  costlier  the 
gift,  the  greater  the  blessing.  Before  all  these 
are  placed  clean  mats,  on  which  men  and  boys 
kneel,  or  prostrate  themselves,  to  say  their 
prayers.  Farther  removed  and  lower  down, 
trampled  over  by  careless  feet,  is  the  place  for 


HEATHEN    DEVOTION.  2/ 

the  women  and  girls  in  their  devotions.  Their 
touch  would  pollute  the  higher  platform  ;  but 
here  they  may  humbly  worship  their  partial  god. 
A  wooden  shelf  is  placed  on  bamboo  sticks  near 
by.  as  an  altar  to  receive  the  offerings  of  rice, 
plantains,  and  hard-boiled  eggs,  which  crows 
and  dogs  speedily  devour;  but  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference to  the  devotee  :  he  obtains  merit,  what- 
ever becomes  of  his  offering.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  town  and  villages  around  come  often  in 
great  numbers  to  this  pagoda,  to  bring  their 
gifts,  and  say  their  prayers.  They  have  no  sab- 
bath,- but  every  eighth  day  from  the  new  moon 
is  a  worship-day,  and  special  offerings  are  car- 
ried to  the  pagoda.  Sometimes  a  fit  of  devotion 
seizes  some  man  who  wishes  special  merit,  or 
hopes  to  become  a  god ;  and,  taking  a  little  sil- 
ver gong,  he  goes  through  the  city  every  even- 
ing before  sunset,  beating  his  gong,  and  calling 
in  a  sing-song  tone  for  the  people  to  come  and 
worship  at  the  pagoda.  He  soon  has  a  train  of 
followers,  increasing  as  he  proceeds,  chiefly  of 
women  and  children,  bearing  bright  flowers, 
parched  rice,  and  paper  prayers,  to  leave  at  the 
sacred  shrine.  They  worship  with  their  sub- 
stance :  when  shall  all  Christians  learn  to  honor 
God  with  theirs.'* 


28  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

Returning  to  the  bazaar,  we  find  near  it  our 
chapel,  the  only  one  in  all  that  city  devoted  to 
the  worship  of  the  true  God.  Around  it  cluster 
precious  memories.  Not  far  from  it  is  a  Catho- 
lic church,  a  Mohammedan  mosque,  a  Jewish 
synagogue,  and  an  elegant  Brahmin  temple. 
All  forms  of  Paganism  and  all  kinds  of  sin  are 
found  in  these  Eastern  cities.  The  missionary 
dwells  here,  as  did  the  church  in  Pergamos, 
"even  where  Satan's  seat  is." 

In  Dr.  Mason's  hospitable  house  we  made  our 
home  for  three  or  four  weeks,  until  my  father 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  house  for  himself. 
This  was  no  easy  matter,  for  **a  tenement  to 
let"  is  not  often  found  in  a  native  town.  At 
last  he  secured  a  house  situated  in  cantonment, 
and  once  occupied  by  an  English  officer.  It 
was  in  a  dilapidated  condition,  the  roof  being 
almost  entirely  gone,  and  the  walls  falling  to 
pieces.  As  this  was  the  rainy  season,  a  roof 
was  indispensable.  The  natives  soon  constructed 
one  of  thatch,  and,  platting  wide  strips  of  bam- 
boo for  the  walls,  tied  them  to  the  upright  posts, 
and  our  house  was  ready.  It  fronted  the  parade- 
ground,  which  was  a  source  of  great  pleasure 
to  me ;  for,  as  Toungoo  was  under  the  Queen's 
protection,  part  of  a  British  regiment  was  sta- 


EARLY   CONVERTS.  29 

tioned  there,  and  used  the  ground  for  their  drills 
and  dress-parades.  Occasionally  the  band  played 
there  for  an  hour  in  the  evening. 

A  short  time  before  our  arrival,  several  thou- 
sand Shans  had  taken  refuge  in  British  Burmah 
from  oppressive  Burman  taxation,  and  had  set- 
tled about  seven  miles  from  Toungoo.  For 
incidents  connected  with  our  work  among  them, 
see  the  book  entitled  "  Our  Gold-Mine,"  written 
by  Mrs.  Ada  C.  Chaplin. 

The  first  convert  to  Christianity  was  a  Burman 
woman,  baptized  in  1861.  Others  soon  followed, 
notwithstanding  bitter  persecution.  The  case 
of  Moung  O  was  particularly  interesting  to  me. 
He  was  employed  in  the  care  of  our  ponies,  but 
spent  much  of  his  leisure  time  in  reading  the 
Bible.  God's  word  is  quick  and  powerful,  and 
he  soon  accepted  it  as  the  guide  of  his  life. 
One  day,  while  he  was  leading  my  pony,  I  asked 
him,  *' Moung  O,  do  you  love  Jesus  .^"  He 
quickly  answered,  ''Hoke,  mengalay"  ("Yes, 
little  one  ").  "  Then,  why  are  you  not  baptized, 
as  Jesus  commands  }  "  —  "  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  if  I 
confess  Christ,  my  friends  will  all  .persecute  me." 
Not  long  after,  he  took  up  his  cross,  and  followed 
Jesus  into  the  watery  grave.  Immediately  the 
storm   of   persecution  which  he  foresaw  burst 


30  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

upon  him.  His  wife  refused  to  live  with  him, 
and  his  friends  forsook  him.  I  remember  well 
the  evening  when  he  came  from  his  house  with 
a  little  bundle  under  his  arm  ;  and,  sitting  down 
our  steps,  he  said,  "  Teacher,  I  have  no  friends 
now  :  I  have  come  to  live  with  you.  I  love  my 
wife,  but  I  love  Jesus  mover  He  began  imme- 
diately to  prepare  himself  to  preach.  It  was 
not  long  before  his  wife  returned  to  him,  and, 
after  much  urging,  consented  to  live  on  our 
premises ;  still  she  avoided  all  religious  influ- 
ence. After  a  while,  at  the  hour  of  our  evening 
Burman  worship  she  would  sit  on  the  steps  out- 
side, where  she  could  hear  the  singing.  Soon 
she  came  to  the  doorway,  and  one  evening  crept 
inside.  It  was  not  long  before  she  joined  the 
praying  band,  and  for  years  the  two  were  faith- 
ful laborers  for  the  Master.  Both  have  since 
died  in  the  faith. 


CHANGE   OF   RESIDENCE.  3 1 


CHAPTER   III. 

The  New  House.  —  Reptiles  and  Insects.  —  The  Cen- 
tury-palm. —  Fruit-trees.  —  The  Banian.  —  Flower- 
ing AND  Medicinal  Plants.  —  Cultivation  of  Rice. 

When  I  was  about  eight  years  old,  my  father 
built  a  house  for  the  mission  on  a  lot  opposite 
the  main  entrance  to  the  city,  where  four  prin- 
cipal streets  met.  It  was  a  most  favorable  loca- 
tion for  access  to  the  people.  The  house  was 
built  mainly  of  plain  teak  boards,  and  resem- 
bled, on  the  inside,  a  country  barn,  with  beams 
and  rafters  in  plain  view.  To  secure  the  free 
circulation  of  air,  the  house  was  raised  upon 
posts  so  high  that  a  carriage  could  drive  under 
it,  and  from  its  piazza  I  have  stepped  upon  the 
back  of  an  elephant.  The  building  of  a  house 
in  Burmah  is  a  very  different  affair  from  what 
it  is  here.  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  send 
to  the  forests  for  timber.  Two  kinds  of  timber 
are  chiefly  used  in  building,  —  teak  and  iron- 
wood.  Teak  is  prized  for  its  durability,  delicacy 
of  fibre,  and  beauty  of  finish,  in  which  respect 


32  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

it  greatly  resembles  mahogany.  It  is  also  proof 
against  white  ants,  who  delight  to  devour  almost 
every  thing  else.  Ironwood,  as  its  name  implies, 
is  valuable  for  hardness  and  durability.  Natives 
are  very  careless  of  the  forests,  and  would  cut 
down  any  and  every  tree  as  their  present  inter- 
est or  caprice  might  dictate ;  but  the  English 
government  has  an  interest  in  preserving  these 
valuable  woods,  and  they  are  watched  over  by 
persons  called,  as  in  England,  foresters.  The 
trees  being  selected,  they  are  cut  down  by  na- 
tives, not  with  axes,  for  they  have  none,  but  with 
*'  dahsj'  or  large  knives.  The  branches  are  cut 
off,  and  the  trunks  are  dragged  by  elephants  to 
the  riv^er,  whence  they  are  floated  down  to  a  con- 
venient place  near  the  town.  Here  a  pit  is  dug, 
across  which  the  logs  to  be  sawed  into  boards 
are  placed.  Two  men  taking  a  long  saw  with 
a  handle  at  each  end,  and  standing  one  in  the 
pit  and  one  on  the  log  above,  slowly  and  labori- 
ously accomplish  the  work  of  sawing.  The 
ironwood  trunks  that  are  to  be  the  posts  of  the 
house  are  taken  to  the  spot  selected  for  building. 
Then  follows  the  raising,  which  reminds  one  of 
the  old  times  in  New  England.  Forty  or  fifty 
men  are  gathered  together.  First,  with  narrow 
spades  about  two  inches  in  width,  they  dig  holes 


THE    RAISING.  33 

in  the  earth  four  or  five  feet  deep  and  about  ten 
feet  apart.  Into  these  holes  the  solid  trunks  of 
the  trees  are  placed,  and  made  to  stand  upright. 
These  vary  in  length  from  fifteen  to  thirty  feet, 
the  shortest  supporting  the  floor  and  the  longest 
the  roof.  Great  excitement  prevails  when  these 
are  set  up  ;  as  they  have  no  machinery  but  ropes, 
bamboos,  and  their  brawny  hands.  When  these 
posts  are  placed,  and  fixed  by  means  of  cross- 
pieces  nailed  to  them,  the  *'  raising  "  is  done,  and 
then  follows  the  feast.  A  bushel  of  rice  has  been 
boiled  without  salt,  and  a  condiment  (or  curry) 
made  to  eat  with  it,  consisting  of  a  little  beef  or 
fish,  a  great  deal  of  red  pepper,  a  plenty  of  some 
vegetable  oil,  and  a  variety  of  aromatic  seeds 
carefully  rubbed  into  a  paste  between  two 
stones.  A  washbowl-full  of  rice  and  a  cup  of 
curry  are  taken  out  for  the  head  man,  or  master 
workman,  who  eats  by  himself ;  and  the  rest  is 
poured  into  large  trays,  around  which  all  indis- 
criminately "  fall  to,"  and,  without  knives  or 
spoons,  soon  leave  nothing  but  the  trays  re- 
maining. Unfortunate  is  the  one  who  eats 
longest,  as  he  must  wash  the  tray.  After  this, 
a  basket  of  bananas  or  pine-apples  and  cigars 
completes  the  festival,  and  the  satisfied,  care- 
less coolies  saunter  home.     The  carpenter  then 


34  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

takes  up  the  work,  and  with  a  ^^ dah''  hammer, 
and  chisel,  for  his  box  of  tools,  slowly  con- 
structs a  habitation  which,  when  occupied  by  a 
Christian  family,  has  in  it  all  the  elements  of 
home. 

Sometimes  a  post  will  be  too  long.  The  car- 
penter carefully  measures  the  amount  to  be  cut 
off,  and  then,  lest  he  should  remove  too  much, 
takes  about  half  of  it  for  his  first  cutting.  With 
hammer  and  chisel,  bit  by  bit  he  cuts  off  this 
portion,  and  then  measures  again.  Of  course  it 
is  still  too  long,  and  in  the  same  way  he  re- 
moves another  portion  ;  sometimes  he  makes  a 
third  cutting  before  it  is  right.  It  is  for  his 
interest  not  to  get  the  work  done  too  soon,  as 
he  is  paid  twenty-five  cents  a  day,  and  it  may 
be  a  long  time  before  he  builds  another  house 
for  a  white  man. 

You  must  not  think  our  Burman  home  was 
utterly  devoid  of  beauty.     It  was  in  a  land 

"  Where  every  prospect  pleases, 
And  only  man  is  vile." 

In  front  of  the  house  was  a  garden  full  of  bril- 
liant, sweet-scented  flowers  ;  and  among  them 
many  of  my  childish  hours  were  spent.  There 
was  a  large   red   flower  with  which  I  used  to 


REPTILES    AND    INSECTS.  35 

black  my  slippers.  Rubbing  the  flower  on  the 
slipper  imparted  to  it  all  the  shine  one  could 
wish.  Back  of  the  house  stood  a  large  cluster 
of  bamboos,  which  is  connected  in  my  mind 
with  a  snake  adventure.  Two  large  snakes 
took  refuge  in  the  bamboos  one  day.  After  the 
natives  had  killed  the  first  one,  they  climbed 
up,  spear  in  hand,  until  within  reach  of  the 
other.  When  ready  to  strike  at  him,  he  disap- 
peared among  the  leaves,  and  soon  thrust  his 
head  out  far  above  them,  and  looked  dow^n  with 
a  wise,  saucy  look,  as  if  to  say,  "  Did  you  catch 
me.'*"  This  he  repeated  again  and  again.  Af- 
ter a  long  struggle  they  killed  him ;  and,  having 
exhibited  him  in  triumph,  some  of  the  natives 
carried  him  away  to  eat. 

For  a  long  time  after  moving  there,  daily  war 
was  waged  with  snakes.  The  place  had  been 
neglected,  and  the  thick  grass  afforded  them  a 
nice  home.  A  nest  of  cobra's  eggs  was  found 
one  day,  and  destroyed  with  great  celerity. 

Reptiles  and  insects,  though  numerous,  never 
caused  us  much  serious  injury.  *  We  were  con- 
stantly on  our  guard,  however.  At  night  our 
stockings  must  be-  carefully  put  away  lest  the 
rats  carry  them  off,  and  every  article  of  clothing 
m^ust  be  examined  before  dressing  in  the  morn- 


36  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

ing,  lest  some  poisonous  visitor  be  concealed 
therein.  Ten  little  scorpions  were  found  one 
day  snugly  ensconced  in  my  father's  hat.  A 
little  red  centipede  slept  under  my  pillow  one 
night.  Beautiful  lizards  constantly  ornamented 
our  walks,  darting  hither  and  thither  in  pursuit 
of  flies  and  moths  which  constitute  their  food. 
It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  one  to  fall  frdm^the 
ceiling  upon  our  table,  as  we  sat  at  dinner  or 
tea,  sometimes  breaking  off  his  tail  by  the  fall. 
When  that  happened,  the  astonished  little  crea- 
ture would  turn,  look  sadly  upon  his  severed, 
wriggling  member,  and  then  dart  away.  One, 
at  least,  of  a  large  species  of  lizard  always  dwelt 
in  the  rafters  and  eaves,  whence  his  loud  and 
solemn  voice  frequently  startled  us.  The  native 
girls  used  to  tell  fortunes  by  the  utterances  of 
this  lizard.  When  he  called  out  toukteh,  they 
said,  "city  chap;"  toukteh  again,  "  country  fel- 
low;" and  so  they  alternated  till  the  animal 
wound  up  with  teJi-teJi-teJi.  The  appellation  last 
used  with  his  call  would  be  that,  as  they  thought, 
of  their  future  betrothed.  Pretty  little  birds 
called  mynahs  built  their  nests  in  the  eaves  of 
the  house,  and  these  large,  ugly  tottktehs  ate 
their  eggs.  They  also  infested  dovecotes,  some- 
times quite  breaking  up  the  homes  of  the  beau- 
tiful birds. 


WHITE   ANTS.  3/ 

The  little  white  ant,  or  termite,  was  a  formid- 
able foe  to  the  comfort  of  our  daily  life.  The 
earth  everywhere  seems  to  be  full  of  them. 
They  are  most  voracious  little  creatures  :  noth- 
ing but  teakwood,  metals,  and  earth-oil  seems  to 
"come  amiss  "  with  them.  All  bureaus,  trunks, 
and  boxes  containing  books  or  clothing  must  be 
raised  from  the  floor  on  bricks  or  teak  blocks, 
and  frequently  examined,  or,  ere  you  are  aware, 
their  contents  are  riddled  by  these  little  pests. 
Although  so  destructive  to  things  immediately 
before  your  eyes,  they  are  seldom  seen,  as  they 
work  always  in  the  dark.  They  build  for  them- 
selves a  covered  way  from  their  nests  in  the 
ground  to  the  article  they  propose  to  devour. 
The  careful  housekeeper  often  interrupts  their 
designs  by  discovering  a  little  line  of  mud  across 
the  floor,  or  up  a  post,  or  along  the  ceiling. 
This  is  their  covered  road ;  and  with  broom  and 
boiling  water,  and  no  small  degree  of  impatience, 
she  puts  an  end  to  their  advances  in  that  direc- 
tion. The  natives,  once  a  year,  take  a  grand 
revenge  for  their Tiepredations.  They  eat  them. 
When  the  rains  have  fallen,  and  softened  the 
earth,  a  part  of  the  white  ants  take  wings,  and 
for  one  short  night  disport  themselves  in  the 
open  air.     They  begin  to  come  out  of  the  earth 


38  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

at  about  sunset,  and  the  air  until  dark  seems  to 
be  full  of  them.  Like  other  insects  flying  in 
the  night,  they  are  attracted  to  light.  The  na- 
tives spread  mats,  place  upon  them  basins  of 
water  and  a  light.  The  unsuspecting  ants  fly 
through  the  light,  singe  their  wings,  and  fall 
into  the  water,  whence  they  are  taken  by  the 
delighted  natives,  and  fried  for  the  next  morn- 
ing's breakfast. 

A  variety  of  fruit-trees  grew  around  the  house. 
In  one  corner  of  the  compound  there  was  an 
old  well,  around  which  clustered  several  banana- 
trees,  and  towering  above  them  all  stood  a  grand 
old  century-palm.  Very  beautiful  was  this  tree 
in  its  hundredth  year,  crowned  with  its  pyramid 
of  white  flowers,  which  soon  ripened  into  fruit. 
Then  its  work  was  done ;  its  life  was  lived.  It 
had  spent  a  hundred  years  in  growth.  It  had 
consumed  a  hundred  years  of  rain  and  sunshine 
for  one  short  year  of  flowers  and  fruit.  The 
first  wind  that  followed  the  perfected  fruit  laid 
the  lofty  centenarian  low.  It  had  shown  no 
signs  of  decay.  We  only  ffiew  its  end  was 
near  by  the  perfection  of  its  beauty  and  utility. 
What  scenes  had  this  palm-tree  witnessed  in  its 
hundred  years  ?  A  king  proudly  strode  by,  when 
with  his  own  hand  he  could  have  torn  it  from 


THE   COMPOUND.  39 

the  soil.  He  had  lived  and  reigned  and  died ; 
his  palace  had  crumbled  into  dust,  and  other 
palm-trees  were  growing  where  he  had  "eaten 
rice."  Idols  of  different  nations  had  been  car- 
ried in  gay  procession  beneath  its  fan-like  leaves  ; 
priests  had  rested  and  cooled  themselves  in  its 
shade,  and  had  been  carried  past  it  to  their  final 
burning.  Warriors  and  boatmen,  coolies  and 
children,  had  fought  and  wandered,  worshipped 
and  played,  grown  old  and  died,  while  it  was 
slowly  growing,  counting  its  years  by  each  circle 
of  leaves  that  drooped  and  dried,  above  which 
the  towering  top  was  always  green,  and*  beneath 
which  the  stalwart  trunk  was  never  bowed.  At 
the  commencement  of  its  last  decade  there  was 
mingled  with  the  rustle  of  its  leaves  the  sound 
of  the  English  fife  and  drum,  harbinger  of  re- 
treating Burmese  dominion,  waning  Buddhism, 
religious  liberty,  and  Christian  triumph.  Ere 
the  trees  that  are  now  springing  from  its  ripened 
seed  shall  bear  their  fruit,  and  die,  the 

"  Boodh  shall  fall,  and  Burmah's  sons 
Shall  own  Messiah's  sway." 

Other  parts  of  the  compound  '  were  occupied 

*  The  compound,  in  India  and  Burmah,  is  the  enclosure  con- 
taining the  dwelling,  other  houses,  and  gardens.  It  varies  ia 
size  from  two  or  three  to  eight  or  ten  acres. 


40  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

by  houses  for  native  preachers  and  teachers,  and 
the  Shan  schoolhouse.  Not  far  from  the  house 
was  the  river  ;  and  on  the  other  side,  in  the 
distance,  rose  range  after  range  of  hills  and 
mountains. 

The  fruit-trees  of  Burmah  are  numerous,  and 
fruit  forms  a  considerable  part  of  the  food  of 
the  natives.  The  mangosteen  is  one  of  the 
most  delicious  of  fruits,  but  not  very  widely 
spread.  The  dorian  is  regarded  by  the  natives 
as  second  to  none,  and  the  King  of  Burmah 
requires  a  tax  of  many  hundreds  annually  to  be 
contributed  to  the  royal  table.  It  has  this  pe- 
culiarity :  to  those  who  like  it,  it  is  most  deli- 
cious ;  to  those  who  do  not  like  it,  it  is  most  dis- 
gusting. The  mango  is  a  general  favorite,  rich 
and  juicy.  It  is  often  compared  to  the  peach, 
but  is  far  more  delicious  in  flavor  and  delightful 
to  the  taste.  The  fruit  on  the  table  for  dessert 
the  day  of  our  arrival  in  Burmah  was  the  paw- 
paw, or  papaya.  It  somewhat  resembles  a  melon 
in  shape  ;  but  its  pulp  is  golden  and  fragrant, 
and  its  small  black  seeds  have  a  peppery  taste. 
It  also  grows  in  our  own  Southern  States. 
Several  guava-trees  grew  in  front  of  our  house; 
and  their  white  fruit,  resembling  in  shape  our 
small  pear,  afforded  me  much  pleasure.     There 


FRUIT-TREES.  4I 

was  also  the  custard-apple,  in  size  and  taste 
resembling  a  rich  cup-custard,  but  in  outward 
appearance  more  like  a  huge  green  raspberry. 
The  pine-apple  is  very  abundant,  and  needs  no 
description.  The  plantain,  or  banana,  is  as 
much  prized  there  as  the  apple  is  with  us. 
There  are  as  many  as  twenty-five  varieties. 
Some  kinds  are  eaten  as  fruit  ;  others  are  very 
nice  fried  or  roasted,  and  eaten  as  a  vegetable. 
Orange-trees  are  abundant  and  prolific.  A  tree 
planted  by  Dr.  Mason  produced,  in  its  ninth 
year,  more  than  two  thousand  oranges.  Sweet 
limes  resembling  oranges,  the  small  acid  lime, 
and  the  citron,  or  large  acid  lime,  are  found 
almost  everywhere.  The  mulberry-tree  is  culti- 
vated extensively  where  the  silkworm  is  raised. 
The  jujube,  from  which  the  famous  jujube  loz- 
enges are  made,  is  a  small  sour  berry  of  which 
the  natives  are  very  fond.  The  locust-trees, 
which  grow  in  many  parts  of  America,  some- 
times remind  one  of  the  tamarinds  in  Burmah, 
though  the  tamarind  is  larger,  handsomer,  and 
has  yellowish  instead  of  white  blossoms.  It  is 
very  valuable  for  its  acid  fruits  used  in  curries. 
It  is  not  indigenous,  but  grows  well  with  care. 
The  jack-fruit  is  very  abundant.  The  tree  is 
large,  and  affords  a  dark,  grateful  shade.     The 


42  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

fruit,  large  as  watermelons,  grows  from  the 
trunk  and  large  branches  :  obviously  the  small 
branches  could  not  hold  them.  The  bread-fruit, 
which  sometimes  has  served  missionaries  for 
breakfast  instead  of  bread,  grows  in  the  south- 
ern parts  ;  and  the  tapioca,  whose  root  roasted 
resembles  potatoes,  grows  in  the  mountains. 

The  most  re;markable,  in  appearance,  of  forest 
trees  is  the  banian.  Its  trunk  sends  out  branches 
horizontally,  which  at  intervals  drop  down  shoots 
that  descend  to  the  ground,  take  root,  and  be- 
come trunks  themselves ;  thus  spreading  till 
one  tree  has  become  a  large  grove,  and,  as  our 
geographies  say,  a  thousand  men  may  rest  be- 
neath its  shade.  This  tree  often  nourishes 
itself  at  the  expense  of  other  trees.  Its  winged 
seeds  find  lodgement  in  the  axils  of  the  leaves 
of  the  palm-tree,  and,  moistened  by  the  rains, 
send  out  rootlets  that  wind  around  the  trunk  of 
the  palm,  in  and  out  among  its  old  axils,  till 
they  take  root  in  the  earth.  These  rootlets 
grow  till  they  seem  like  the  folds  of  some  huge 
serpent  embracing  the  noble  palm,  gradually 
crushing  out  its  life  and  consuming  its  body  till 
there  is  finally  no  palm-tree  there.  A  converted 
Burman  who  was  one  day  talking  with  my  father 
to  a  group  of  native  people  used  this  to  illustrate 


THE   BANIAN.  43 

the  nature  of  little  sins.  He  said,  "A  little 
banian-seed  said  to  a  palm-tree,  '  I  am  weary  of 
being  tossed  about  by  the  wind  :  let  me  stay 
a  while  among  your  leaves.'  —  '  Oh,  yes  ! '  said 
the  palm-tree  :  *  stay  as  long  as  you  like,'  and 
by  and  by  forgot  the  little  seed  was  there.  But 
the  seed  was  not  idle.  It  sent  out  little  fibres 
and  tiny  roots,  and  they  crept  around  the  trunk 
and  under  the  bark  and  into  the  heart  of  the 
tree  itself ;  and  then  the  tree  cried  out,  *  What 
is  this  } '  And  the  banian  said,  *  It  is  only  the 
little  seed  you  allowed  to  rest  among  your 
leaves.'  —  'Leave  me  now,'  said  the  palm-tree: 
*you  have  grown  too  large  and  strong.'  —  'I 
cannot  leave  you  now :  we  have  grown  to- 
gether. I  should  kill  you  if  I  tore  myself 
away.'  The  palm-tree  bowed  its  head,  and 
tried  to  shake  the  banian  off,  but  could  not ; 
and,  little  by  little,  the  palm-leaves  withered, 
the  trunk  shrivelled,  and  only  the  banian  could 
be  found.     Beware  of   little  sins." 

Of.  the  many  flowering  trees  of  JBurmah,  the 
Amherstia  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable.  The 
English  gentleman  who  discovered  it  says, 
"  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  tree  when  in 
full  foliage  and  blossom  is  the  most  strikingly 
superb  object  which  can  possibly  be  imagined.*' 


44  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

The  mesua  is  a  favorite  with  the  priests,  and 
is  planted  around  their  monasteries.  The  Bur- 
mese say  that  their  next  Buddha,  Aree-ma-daya, 
will  enter  the  divine  life  while  musing  beneath 
its  shade.  The  lofty  champac  shades  the  streets 
of  towns  and  villages  ;  and  its  rich,  fragrant  blos- 
soms are  used  by  Burmese  maidens  to  adorn 
their  ''long,  dark  hair."  The  delicate,  sweet- 
scented  blossoms  of  the  mimusops  are  also 
prized  for  the  same  purpose.  I  have  spent 
many  a  happy  hour  with  the  schoolgirls  in 
stringing  them  upon  a  thread,  and  twining  them 
about  my  hair.  The  gorgeous  rhododendron 
delights  us  on  every  hand.  Under  the  beauti- 
ful jonesia,  it  is  claimed,  Gaudama  was  born. 
"At  the  instant  of  his  birth,"  say  the  sacred 
writers,  "he  walked  seven  steps;  and,  with  a 
voice  like  the  roaring  of  the  king  of  lions,  he 
exclaimed,  *  I  am  the  most  excellent  of  men,  I 
am  the  most  famous  of  men,  I  am  the  most 
victorious  of  men.'  " 

There  is  a  species  of  butea  which  the  Pwo 
Karens  plant  in  their  sacred  groves  ;  and  the 
deep,  rich,  orange  blossoms,  seen  under  a  tropic 
sun  in  the  dry  season,  present  the  appearance 
of  a  burning  jungle.      The  henna-tree  is  exten- 


FLOWERS.  45 

sively  cultivated.     The  fresh  leaves  beaten  with 

catechu, 

"  Imbue 
The  fingers'  ends  with  a  bright  roseate  hue, 
So  bright,  that  in  the  mirror's  depths  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  branches  in  the  stream." 

The  various  species  of  jasmine,  the  trumpet- 
flower,  the  clerodendron,  chaste-tree,  and  pas- 
sion-flower are  all  prized  for  fragrance  and 
beauty.  One  of  the  prettiest  annuals  is  a  spe- 
cies of  sonerilla,  with  bright  purple  flowers. 
**The  tuberose  with  her  silver  light"  is  exten- 
sively cultivated.  The  flower  has  a  delightful 
fragrance,  and  throws  out  its  odors  strongest  at 
evening.  White,  red,  and  blue  water  lilies  are 
abundant.  Various  species  of  amaranth  abound, 
also  the  pretty  four-o'clock  and  the  balsam. 
Orchids,  or  air-plants,  most  of  which  grow  on 
trees,  flourish  everywhere,  and  the  blossoms  are 
surprisingly  beautiful.  Nearly  every  species  is 
worth  more  in  England  than  its  freight  over 
land,  and  they  are  often  exported.  Of  one  beau- 
tiful species  the  Karens  are  required  to  send 
several  thousand  annually  as  tribute  to  the  king 
of  Burmah. 

Ferns  are  very  interesting  and  numerous. 

From  the  number  and   quality  of   medicinal 


46  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

plants  found  throughout  the  country,  it  would 
seem,  that,  if  they  were  fully  understood,  provis- 
ion would  be  found  among  them  for  all  the  ills 
that  flesh  is  heir  to.  The  camphor-plant  grows 
everywhere  with  the  luxuriance  of  a  common 
weed.  The  nux  vomica,  from  which  strychnos 
is  extracted,  grows  in  the  vicinity  of  Toungoo. 
Dried  senna-leaves  are  constantly  for  sale  in 
the  bazaar.  Indian  squills,  ipecacuanha,  gum- 
arabic,  tragacanth,  and  the  Toungoo  gentian 
grow  freely.  The  castor -oil  and  croton-oil 
plants,  and  the  wood-oil  tree,  are  largely  culti- 
vated. It  is  said  that  tobacco  was  introduced 
from  America ;  but  my  father  found  it  growing 
in  great  quantities  upon  the  mountains,  among 
savage  tribes  who  had  never  held  communica- 
tion with  people  in  the  plain.  It  was  univer- 
sally used  among  them. 

Coriander,  anise,  and  cardamom  seeds,  sassa- 
fras, aloes,  cinnamon,  cloves,  allspice,  nutmeg, 
and  mace  are  found.  Black  and  cayenne  pep- 
per, ginger,  and  betel-nut  are  articles  of  com- 
merce. 

A  great  variety  of  vegetables  is  cultivated  by 
the  natives,  but  those  best  for  Europeans  are 
scarce.  Nearly  every  plant  is  used  as  food  by 
the  natives.     Several  species  of  yam  are  culti- 


VEGETABLES.  47 

vated.  A  very  inferior  sweet-potato  is  abun- 
dant, and  native  children  eat  them  as  we  do 
apples.  Varieties  of  beans  are  found,  also  rad- 
ishes, mustard,  the  brinjal  or  vegetable  egg,  the 
tomato,  and  the  onion.  Cucumbers  are  eaten 
in  large  quantities ;  but  the  natives  prefer  them 
when  large,  ripe,  and  yellow,  and  think  us  very 
wasteful  and  mistaken  in  choosing  those  that 
are  green  and  tender.  More  important  than  all 
these  is  rice,  upon  which  the  natives  chiefly 
subsist.  Scarcity  or  plenitude  depends  upon 
this  grain.  If  the  rice-crop  is  good,  there  is 
plenty,  and  the  people  are  happy.  If  it  fails, 
there  is  famine  and  distress.  There  are  many 
varieties,  both  of  mountain  and  lowland  rice ; 
and  they  are  of  all  colors,  from  ivory-white  to 
coal-black.  From  the  black  rice  the  Karens 
make  a  kind  of  bread,  which  is  to  them  what 
gingerbread  is  to  us.  There  is  also  a  glutin- 
ous rice,  which  was  very  convenient  for  us  in 
journeys.  Joints  of  bamboo  are  filled  with  a 
quantity  unboiled,  a  little  water  is  added,  and 
the  opening  closed.  It  is  then  roasted,  and, 
when  done,  far  surpasses  any  cake  I  ever  ate. 
Mountain-rice  is  planted  in  the  dry  ground 
about  the  month  of  April,  and  the  early  kinds 
are  reaped  in  August.     Lowland  rice,  on   the 


48  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

contrary,  is  in  June  sown  broadcast  upon  the 
flooded  fields  ;  and  the  rice  grows  as  the  rain 
increases,  keeping  its  head  just  above  the  water. 
If  the  water  overflows  the  rice,  the  crop  is 
spoiled  or  greatly  damaged.  When  the  rains 
cease,  and  the  water  decreases,  the  rice  begins 
to  ripen  ;  and  by  November,  when  the  ground 
is  hardened,  the  fields  are  ready  for  the  reapers. 
They  cut  the  grain  with  a  small  sickle,  tie  it  in 
bundles,  and  pile  it  on  a  smooth  piece  of  ground, 
previously  prepared,  with  the  heads  in  the  cen- 
tre. In  some  places  young  people  tread  out 
the  rice  :  in  others  they  use  buffaloes  ;  and,  as 
the  latter  help  themselves  to  a  mouthful  when- 
ever they  choose,  one  is  reminded  of  the  verse 
in  Scripture,  *'Thou  shalt  not  muzzle  the  ox 
when  he  treadeth  out  the  corn."  The  next 
thing  is  to  remove  the  husks.  This  may  be 
done  in  several  ways.  I  most  frequently  saw 
them  use  a  large  wooden  mortar  and  pestle  : 
two  and  often  three  women  would  pound  in  the 
same  mortar,  alternating  their  strokes  with 
mathematical  precision.  In  other  cases  the 
pestle  was  moved  by  a  foot-treadle.  The  moth- 
er would  often  tie  her  baby  to  her  back,  and, 
standing  with  one  foot  on  the  treadle,  thereby 
lift  the  pestle ;  when  she  removed  her  foot,  the 


RICE.  49 

pestle  would  fall,  the  monotonous  swinging  of 
her  body  at  the  same  time  rocking  her  baby  to 
sleep.  The  last  thing  is  to  winnow  it.  With 
large  quantities  they  often  build  a  scaffolding 
several  feet  high,  mount  a  bamboo  ladder  with  a 
basketful  at  a  time,  and  pour  it  down  upon  mats 
spread  on  the  ground.  The  wind  blows  away 
the  husks,  and  the  clear  rice  remains. 


50  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 


CHAPTER   IV. 
The  Animals  of  Burmah. 

As  Burmah  lies  partly  in  the  torrid  and 
partly  in  the  temperate  zone,  it  comprises 
among  its  animals  many  that  are  peculiar  to 
both  zones ;  so  that  the  missionary  is  con- 
stantly surprised,  now  with  delight  in  behold- 
ing the  familiar  creatures  of  his  native  land, 
and  now  with  wonder  as  he  gazes  upon  some 
denizen  of  the  heated  earth. 

It  is  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  A  mission- 
ary's child  is  sitting  on  the  veranda,  gazing, 
half  dreamily,  into  the  heated  atmosphere,  and 
listening  to  the  quiet  sounds  that  fill  it  with 
life.  She  hears  a  gentle  cooing,  and  rises  to 
feed  her  beautiful  tame  pigeons,  not  with  oats 
or  corn,  but  with  the  delicate  white  rice.  Her 
speckled  pet  fowl  hastens,  with  motherly  cluck, 
to  call  her  downy  brood  of  white  chicks  to 
share  the  feast ;  and  a  train  of  ducks,  with 
their  *'  Quack,  quack,"  and  outstretched  glossy 
necks,  waddle  up  the  narrow  path  to  get   at 


AN    ORIOLE   NEST.  51 


AN  u 


XbX<^X^XU      XYlLiOJ 


BIRDS.  53 

least  a  grain;  "Ahn,  ahn,"  from  the  jack-tree 
close  by,  shows  at  least  a  half-dozen  hun- 
gry crows  ready  for  their  share,  but  far  more 
eager  to  seize  the  tiny  pat  of  butter  the  mis- 
sionary mother  is  so  carefully  putting  away,  or 
to  pounce  upon  the  bit  of  beef  the  cook  has 
laid  upon  the  shelf  by  the  door,  while  he  takes 
off  his  turban  and  white  dress.  There  is  a 
chattering  in  the  bamboo  hedge ;  and  the  child 
looks  eagerly  for  the  little  green  parrots,  which 
she  can  scarcely  distinguish  from  the  leaves. 
She  hears  a  scream,  and,  look !  there  is  a  kite, 
or  hawk,  slowly  sailing  off  with  one  of  the 
beautiful  birds  in  its  talons.  She  looks  across 
to  the  open  lot  yonder,  and  sees  a  group  of  buz- 
zards lazily  lifting  their  wings,  and  giving  a  few 
heavy  jumps  about,  as  they  tear  in  pieces  the 
dead  cat  or  dog  left  there  for  these  scavengers, 
who  ravenously  devour  it.  In  the  marshy  moat, 
the  tall  heron  stalks,  the  pelican,  coot,  and 
water-hen  hide.  Twitterings  and  a  gush  of 
song  greet  the  child's  ear ;  and  she  looks  up  to 
see  the  golden  orioles  darting  in  and  out  the 
long  necks  of  their  curious  nests,  hanging  from 
the  sheltered  side  of  the  palm-tree  in  the  gar- 
den, or  the  eaves  of  her  own  dwelling.  She 
scatters  another  handful  of  rice,  and  the  hoopoe 


54  MY   CHILD-LIFE   IN   BURMAH. 

with  wavering  crest,  and  the  trustful  mynah 
with  her  five  little  ones  just  fledged,  hop  al- 
most at  her  feet  in  picking  it  up.  She  hears  a 
loud  trumpeting.  If  her  mother  catches  the 
sound,  she  is  instantly  transported  to  her  na- 
tive country,  and  half  fancies  she  hears  the 
hoarse  whistle  of  the  incoming  train.  But  the* 
little  girl  knows  it  is  the  elephant  over  yonder, 
dragging  logs  from  the  river  to  the  saw-pit,  or 
piling  them  up  with  his  flexile  trunk  as  evenly 
and  exactly  as  any  man  could  do.  I  never  tired 
of  watching  the  elephants.  The  keen  twinkle 
of  their  small  eyes,  the  lazy  flap  of  their  broad 
ears,  the  measured  lifting  of  their  huge  feet, 
the  nervous  quiver  of  their  thick  skin,  and  the 
restless,  swaying,  sniffing,  touching,  searching 
movement  of  the  long  trunk,  filled  me  with 
wonder.  They  seemed  to  belong  to  some  far- 
away, early  period  of  the  earth's  history,  left 
over  and  forgotten  by  the  years  as  they  glided 
by.  I  tried  to  take  a  ride  upon  one  once;  but 
the  see-sawing  motion  of  the  howdaJi  made  me 
nervous,  and  his  loud  trumpeting  filled  me  with 
fear,  so  I  quickly  asked  to  be  put  down.  My 
father  was  about  to  make  a  journey  into  the 
jungles,  and  the  elephant  he  had  procured  was 
fastened  with  an  iron  chain  to  a  palm-tree  in 


THE   ELEPHANT.  55 

our  yard.  He  had  remained  with  apparent  con- 
tent during  the  day,  feeding  upon  the  limbs  of 
an  Indian  fig-tree  near  by,  crunching,  as  if 
they  had  been  sugar-cane,  the  branches  three 
or  four  inches  in  circumference.  But  at  night, 
when  the  natives  had  gone  into  town,  and  every 
thing  was  quiet,  we  heard  the  dragging  of  a 
chain,  and  said,  "The  elephant  is  loose."  My 
father  went  to  the  door,  but  in  the  darkness 
could  see  nothing ;  and,  as  he  heard  no  move- 
ment, he  concluded  we  were  mistaken,  and 
came  back.  As  soon  as  all  was  still  again,  we 
heard  the  chain,  as  before.  My  father  went 
very  softly  to  the  door,  and  found  the  elephant 
just  going  out  at  the  gate.  Mother  hastily  took 
a  pan  of  rice,  which  she  thought  would  take 
him  a  considerable  time  to  eat,  and  held  it  out 
to  him  :  what  was  her  surprise  to  see  him  put 
the  end  of  his  trunk  into  the  pan,  draw  up  its 
entire  contents,  and  pour  them  as  one  mouthful 
into  his  capacious  throat !  My  father,  however, 
had  picked  up  the  end  of  the  chain,  and  the 
elephant  patiently  allowed  himself  to  be  refast- 
ened  to  the  tree.  Later  in  the  evening,  his 
driver,  returning,  found  him  just  outside  the 
compound,  apparently  considering  which  way 
to  go.     He  made  no  resistance  as  he  was  led 


$6  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

back  again,  and  this  time  fastened  with  so 
many  turns  and  twists  and  ties,  it  was  thought 
impossible  for  him  to  get  away ;  but  in  the 
morning  there  was  no  elephant  to  be  seen. 
After  three  days  search,  he  was  found  quietly 
feeding  in  a  jungle,  a  mile  and  a  half  away. 
My  father  decided,  that,  though  he  seemed  the 
most  gentle  and  docile  of  his  race,  he  was  far 
too  independent,  and  skilful  in  picking  ties,  to 
be  useful  in  a  jungle  trip  ;  and  the  elephant  was 
sent  home.  Wild  elephants  are  numerous  and 
dangerous  in  the  jungles  ;  and  the  catching  and 
training  of  them  is  a  source  of  excitement,  dan- 
ger, and  profit  to  those  who  are  daring  enough 
to  engage  in  it. 

The  tiger  is  the  most  formidable  of  the  wild 
animals.  In  making  jungle-trips,  it  is  neces- 
sary, when  threading  the  narrow  paths,  to  keep 
close  together  by  day,  and  to  keep  large  fires  by 
night,  lest  some  stealthy  prowler  pounce  upon 
man  or  pony  before  any  one  is  aware  of  his 
approach. 

Only  six  miles  from  the  city  stood  a  heathen 
monastery  on  the  edge  of  a  jungle.  One  night 
a  tiger  entered  the  open  house,  and  carried  off 
a  priest :  he  repeated  these  visits  until  he  had 
carried  away  six  men.     The  natives  then  went 


ELEPHANT-HUNTING. 


57 


THE   BUFFALO.  59 

out  to  hunt  for  him,  and  soon  carried  him  in 
triumph  through  the  town. 

The  buffalo  is  the  animal  of  Burmah,  as  the 
camel  is  of  Africa,  and  the  llama  of  South 
America.  It  differs  from  the  American  buffalo, 
which  is  not  a  buffalo  at  all,  but  a  bison,  and  also 
from  the  African  animal  of  the  same  name.  It 
is  larger  than  the  common  ox,  and  more  power- 
ful in  figure.  It  has  a  thick,  dun-colored,  almost 
hairless  skin,  and  huge  wide-spreading  horns  of 
the  same  color  as  the  skin.  Its  milk  is  rich  and 
nutritious,  and,  dying  of  itself,  its  flesh  is  used 
for  food.  The  Burmans  never  kill  it :  the  Karens 
often  do. 

It  is  their  habit  to  feed  and  work  during  the 
night,  or  in  the  cool  of  the  morning  and  even- 
ing. When  the  heat  of  day  begins,  they  at  once 
seek  the  rivers  or  pools,  and  submerge  them- 
selves, leaving  only  their  heads  in  view ;  or  they 
seek  some  marshy  place,  and  burrow  in  the  mud 
until  completely  covered,  thus  protecting  them- 
selves from  mosquitoes,  flies,  and  the  scorching 
rays  of  the  sun.  The  buffalo  is  managed  by  a 
ring  thrust  through  the  nose,  to  which  is  attached 
the  rope,  by  which  it  is  led  about  or  driven  as 
with  reins.  In  the  hands  of  the  natives,  it  has 
something  like  the  patience  and  docility  of  the 


60  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

OX,  but  is  Utterly  intractable  by  Europeans. 
Unlike  any  other  animal,  it  possesses  a  special, 
inveterate,  and  undying  hatred  for  white  people, 
and  will  often  attack  them.  His  repugnance  is 
so  great  that  he  cannot  endure  the  odor  of  a 
white  person.  If  one  comes  within  sight  of  a 
drove,  they  will  immediately  arrange  themselves 
in  line,  elevate  their  noses  in  the  air,  and  sniff 
and  snort  with  the  most  intense  disgust  depicted 
upon  their  faces.  One  day,  as  a  missionary  and 
I  were  riding  on  our  ponies,  we  saw  a  drove  of 
buffaloes  coming  down  the  road.  One  broke 
loose,  and  was  rushing  down  the  street  at  full 
speed,  when,  seeing  us,  he  charged  for  us.  The 
gentleman  was  a  little  in  advance  of  me.  Just 
as  the  buffalo  lowered  his  head  to  toss  horse  and 
rider  into  the  air,  he  so  managed  his  pony  that 
he  reared,  and  the  buffalo  glided  under  his  fore- 
feet. He  was  going  too  fast  to  stop,  and  rushed 
on. 

It  is  most  humiliating  to  a  white  person,  if 
he  wishes  to  take  a  trip  in  a  buffalo-cart,  to  be 
obliged  to  steal  round  to  the  back  of  the  cart, 
and  carefully  climb  in,  while  the  native  driver 
endeavors  to  soothe  and  divert  his  .sensitive 
span.  I  remember,  with  curious  emotions,  a 
night's  trip  taken  in  one  of  those  buffalo-carts. 


A    BURMAN    CART. 


6l 


RIDE    IN   A    BUFFALO-CART.  63 

Mats  were  spread  in  the  rude  wooden-wheeled 
vehicle,  some  articles  of  baggage  were  stowed 
away,  and  then  we  tried  to  dispose  ourselves  in 
the  remaining  space,  too  small  for  three  to  lie 
down.  With  a  child's  happy  faculty  of  adapting 
one's  self  to  circumstances,  I  fell  asleep,  lulled 
by  the  monotonous  creak  of  the  huge  wheels  and 
the  nasal  trills  and  quavers  of  the  driver's  weird 
song.  The  night  was  warm  :  we  did  not  advance 
as  rapidly  as  was  necessary  in  order  to  reach 
our  destination  in  the  cool  of  the  morning,  and 
the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun  found  us  with 
several  miles  still  to  traverse.  The  driver  de- 
clared we  must  wait  until  night,  as  he  dared  not 
use  his  buffaloes  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  My 
father,  feeling  obliged  to  hasten,  insisted  on 
pressing  forward.  After  much  grumbling  on 
the  driver's  part,  we  proceeded ;  but,  whenever 
we  passed  a  stream  or  little  pool  of  water,  he 
would  run  with  a  bamboo,  dip  up  water,  and 
pour  it  upon  the  backs  of  his  buffalos,  to  enable 
them  to  endure  the  heat. 

The  zebu,  or  Indian  ox,  with  the  large  hump 
on  its  shoulders,  is  employed  in  some  parts  of 
Burmah  as  the  buffalo  is  in  others. 

A  missionary  lady,  describing  a  three  days* 
ride  in  a  bullock-cart,  says,  "The  respect  and 


64  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

admiration  for  Burman  carts  and  bullocks  with 
which  that  ride  inspired  me,  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  ever  outgrow.  Any  other  vehicle  would 
have  been  overturned  and  smashed  to  pieces  at 
a  dozen  different  stages  ;  and  any  other  beast 
would  have  grown  restive,  and  broken  loose 
before  the  distance  was  half  made.  As  for  the 
driver,  no  words  of  mine  could  do  justice  to  his 
equanimity  of  mind,  as,  squatted  upon  the 
tongue  of  the  cart,  he  punched  with  a  long 
bamboo  first  one  bullock  and  then  the' other, 
uttering  at  intervals  a  soul-inspiring  groan." 

My  mother  used  to  say  the  one  luxury  of  the 
country  was  its  beautiful  ponies  ;  and  yet  they 
were  not  so  much  a  luxury  as  a  necessity. 
Smaller  than  the  horse,  more  timid,  less  patient, 
and  less  to  be  relied  on,  they  were  neverthe- 
less admirably  adapted  to  the  saddle  and  jungle 
travel.  They  were  our  pets  at  home  and  our 
friends  abroad.  They  were  so  cheap  and  easily 
kept,  we  could  each  have  one.  My  little  broth- 
er's, "  Minnie  Gray,"  cost  five  dollars  ;  the  light 
sorrel  in  which  I  delighted,  ten  dollars ;  my 
mother's,  twenty,  and  so  on.^  A  short  daily 
ride  was  essential  to  health  when  at  home ;  and 

*  Such  were  the  prices  then.  They  are  much  higher  now, 
and  the  cost  of  keeping  them  is  greater. 


man's  power.  65 

in  a  country  where  there  were  no  railroads, 
coaches,  or  horse-cars,  in  fact,  where  there  were 
no  roads  at  all,  with  the  exception  of  boats  and 
elephants,  ponies  are  the  European's  only  means 
of  travel.  The  buffalo  hates  the  pony  as  he 
does  the  white  man,  thus  making  the  pony  more 
the  white  man's  friend. 

I  should  make  this  chapter  quite  too  long, 
were  I  to  describe  the  monkeys,  bears,  wild 
dogs,  jackals,  leopards,  wildcats,  squirrels,  rats, 
mice,  wild  hogs,  deer,  and  rhinoceros,  or  even 
mention,  more  than  I  have  done,  the  great  vari- 
ety of  birds  of  brilliant  plumage  and  sweet  song, 
the  multitude  of  reptiles  that  crawl  at  your  feet, 
the  swarms  of  insects  that  fly  in  the  air,  or  the 
finny  tribe  that  swim  in  the  waters.  No  one 
here  need  search  in  vain  for  any  thing  that 

"O'er   bog   or   steep,  through    strait,  rough,  dense,   or 
rare, 
With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet  pursues  his  way, 
And  swims  or  sinks,  or  wades  or  creeps  or  flies." 

No  part  of  the  globe  is  more  abundant  in 
vegetable  productions,  or  diffuse  and  prolific  in 
its  animal  kingdom.  Here  too,  as  in  all  other 
parts  of  the  world,  man  holds  universal  sway 
over  every  living   thing.     There   are   none   so 


66  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

large,  so  strong,  so  fierce,  so  wild,  but  he  is  able 
to  tame  or  conquer.  When  shall  he  be  con- 
sciously, devoutly,  lovingly,  subject  to  the  great 
Ruler,  the  Creator  of  all  ?  It  remains  very 
greatly  with  us,  the  young  people  of  America, 
to  answer  that  question.  Shall  we  give  them 
the  lisht  ? 


RELIGIOUS    BELIEF.  6/ 


CHAPTER  V. 

Transmigration.  —  Religious    Festivities.  —  Races  and 
Costumes.  —  National  Peculiarities. 

The  Burmans  believe  in  the  transmigration 
of  souls  ;  i.e.,  when  any  living  being  dies,  some 
other  being  is  born,  and  the  soul  of  the  dying 
enters  into  the  body  of  the  living,  and  so  passes 
through  another  period  of  conscious  existence. 
There  is  a  ''  Kahii''  or  fate,  that  governs  these 
changes.  When  some  soul  is  sufficiently  ad- 
vanced to  become  a  man,  if  he  is  a  wicked  man, 
his  soul  must  go  back  again  through  the  lower 
orders  of  life,  till,  having  borne  penalties  for 
some  of  its  sins,  it  is  permitted  to  be  a  man 
again.  If  he  now  leads  a  devout  life,  he  may 
hope,  in  the  next  stage  of  existence,  to  be  a 
nat,  and  finally  to  be  annihilated;  i.e.,  delivered 
from  this  wearisome  round  of  being. 

Woman,  as  such,  can  have  no  hope  even  of 
annihilation.  The  law  is  made  so  difficult  for 
her  to  keep,  that  she  is  forced  to  believe  it  most 
likely  she  will  sink  at  once  to  the  world  of  woe. 


68  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

If  she  should  escape  that  by  leading  a  most 
devout,  benevolent,  and  self-denying  life,  by 
worshipping  continually  her  husband,  the  priests 
and  pagodas,  she  may  possibly,  in  her  next  stage 
of  existence,  be  —  a  man.  No  higher  hope  than 
this  can  ever  enter  a  Buddhist  woman's  heart. 

The  social  element  enters  largely  into  the 
religious  observances  of  the  Burmans,  as  it  did 
into  those  of  the  Jews  in  their  early  history. 
They  make  annual  festivals  at  sacred  places, 
where  they  gather  in  great  numbers,  clad  in 
their  gayest  attire,  and  with  merry  hearts  spend 
several  days  in  worship,  feasting,  and  amuse- 
ment. At  such  times  they  make  costly  offerings 
to  the  priests  and  the  pagodas.  The  women 
gather  up  all  their  little  savings  for  the  year, 
and  buy  yellow  silk  robes  for  the  priests.  The 
men  make  or  purchase  idols  with  which  to  dec- 
orate the  idol-houses  ;  or  obtain  pieces  of  gold- 
leaf,  which  they  plaster  upon  the  idols  or  pago- 
das, one  joining  his  piece  to  some  other's,  till 
the  whole  is  covered.  They  give  always  of  their 
best  to  their  helpless  idol. 

About  eight  miles  from  our  house,  were  the 
**  Seven  Pagodas,"  a  sacred  place  where  Gau- 
dama  is  said  to  have  scratched  for  his  breakfast 
when  he  was  a  rooster.     These  pagodas  were 


THE    SEVEN    PAGODAS.  69 

built  in  honor  of  that  event.  There  is  a  foot- 
print cut  in  a  flattened  rock  not  far  from  our 
house,  said  to  be  that  of  Gaudama ;  and  the 
next  footprint  is  at  these  seven  pagodas,  —  it 
being  but  one  step  for  him  from  the  one  place 
to  the  other.  The  footprints  are  enormous,  and 
are  covered  with  figures  that  may  be  hieroglyph- 
ics. My  father  and  mother  took  me  with  them 
to  these  pagodas  on  one  of  these  annual  gather- 
ings. They  remained  several  days,  distributing 
tracts,  and  talking  to  the  people.  My  childish 
heart  was  greatly  saddened  by  the  sight  of  such 
idolatry,  and  filled  with  a  longing  to  lead  these 
poor,  degraded  ones  to  seek  "the  Way,  the 
Truth,  and  the  Life."  One  woman  had  with 
her  two  little  girls  about  my  age.  She  took 
them  with  her  before  the  idol,  and,  placing  some 
parched  rice  in  their  little  hands,  taught  them 
to  place  them  before  their  faces,  bow  to  the 
image,  and  repeat  their  prayers.  Where  are 
those  little  girls  now }  I  sometimes  ask.  Oh,  if 
I  could  have  led  them  to  Jesus  then ! 

The  people  were  mainly  Burmans  ;  but  Shans, 
Karens,  and  Hindoos  mingled  with  them.  The 
Burmans,  in  their  gay  ''p'tsos''  and  white-mus- 
lin jackets,  with  their  long  black  hair  coiled  on 
top  of  their  heads,  and  often  encircled  by  a  gay 


70  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

silk  turban,  formed  a  striking  contrast  with  the 
Shans  in  their  loose  blue  pants,  white  jackets, 
and  broad-brimmed  straw  hats ;  as  also  to  the 
numerous  tribes  of  Karens  in  their  varied  and 
fantastic  attire,  and  to  the  swarthy  Hindoos  in 
their  loose  white  robes  and  snowy  turbans. 

Heathen  Burmese  women  wear  a  gay-colored 
**  fmaing''  of  cotton  or  silk,  lined  with  muslin, 
folded  about  the  form,  extending  from  the  arm- 
pits to  the  ankles,  and  open  in  front,  so  that  in 
walking  the  limbs  are  exposed.  In  full  dress,  a 
white-muslin  jacket  with  long  close  sleeves  is 
worn  over  the  ^'  f  maing.''  Among  the  laboring 
classes  and  many  married  women,  the  {maing  is 
fastened  at  the  waist,  and  nothing  else  is  worn. 
Their  hair  is  very  abundant,  black,  and  glossy. 
They  comb  it  smoothly,  and  form  it  into  a 
graceful  knot  behind,  frequently  adding  chap- 
lets  of  fragrant  flowers.  To  increase  their 
beauty,  they  rub  on  the  face  a  delicate  yellow 
powder.  They  adorn  themselves  with  huge 
earrings,  numerous  and  costly  necklaces,  gold 
chains,  rings,  bracelets,  and  anklets.  Mission- 
aries always  strive  to  teach  the  native  Christians 
to  dress  modestly  and  without  extravagance ; 
accordingly  in  all  our  schools  the  girls  wear  the 
closed   loonghee  instead  of   the   open  fmaing. 


CHRISTIAN    KAREN    GIRLS. 


71 


m/aAAAAA 


CHRISTIAN  KAREN  GIRLS. 


THREE    NATIONALITIES.  73 

They  also  lay  aside  their  expensive  ornaments, 
and  the  teachers  endeavor  to  lead  them  to  seek 
the  better  "ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit." 

Burmese  boys  often  do  not  wear  any  thing 
until  they  are  eight  or  ten  years  of  age,  nor  the 
girls  until  four  or  five  years  old,  except  gold  and 
silver  and  other  ornaments  in  profusion.  The 
boy  then  dons  his  p'tso^  or  strip  of  gay  cloth, 
and  the  girl  her  tiny  fmaing.  Poor  little  things  ! 
they  have  a  hard  time  in  learning  to  keep  them 
on  ;  for  they  use  no  buttons  or  pins,  but  merely 
tuck  in  the  corners  with  a  peculiar  twist.  The 
little  inexperienced  girl  starts  to  run  with  a 
playmate,  when  off  drops  her  fmaing;  but  she 
only  stops  for  a  moment,  picks  it  up,  and  runs 
along  again,  carrying  it  in  her  hand. 

There  are  marked  differences  between  the 
three  principal  nationalities  now  existing  in 
Burmah,  —  the  Burmans,  Shans,  and  Karens. 
The  Burmans  are  very  intelligent,  polished, 
haughty,  and  somewhat  indolent.  The  Shans 
are  equally  intelligent,  less  proud,  and  more  dili- 
gent. Like  the  Burmans,  they  are  Buddhists. 
The  Karens  are  by  far  the  most  docile  and 
lovable.  They  have  been  crushed  by  oppressive 
Burman  rule,  and  there  is  an  element  of  sadness 


74  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

in  their  disposition.  They  are  not  Buddhists, 
but  worship  spirits,  and  seem  more  susceptible 
to  the  gospel.  We  cannot,  therefore,  compare 
and  judge  of  the  work  of  missionaries  among 
these  different  peoples ;  for  we  cannot  under- 
stand the  helps  and  hinderances  they  meet  with 
in  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  people  for 
whom  they  labor.  If  we  estimate  success  by 
the  amount  of  error  removed,  and  the  difficulties 
overcome,  it  will  probably  be  seen  that  as  much 
has  been  accomplished  for  the  Burmans  as  for 
the  Karens.  A  Burman  is  well  read  in  all  their 
religious  and  scientific  theories.  The  Karen 
has  no  books  but  what  missionaries  give  him  : 
he  knows  nothing,  but  he  very  readily  acquires 
knowledge.  It  was  Dr.  Judson,  I  think,  who 
remarked  that  the  Karen  stood  with  his  empty 
chattie,  into  which  the  missionary  could  freely 
pour  the  precious  truths  of  salvation  ;  while  the 
Burman  held  his  chattie  filled  with  odious  earth- 
oil,  which  the  missionary  must  induce  him  to 
throw  away,  and  cleanse  the  chattie,  before  it 
could  be  filled  with  the  water  of  life.  After 
baptizing  two  Burman  men,  Dr.  Judson  said, 
*  I  baptized  one  hundred  Karens  when  I  worked 
among  them  before  their  missionaries  were  sent 
out,  and  these  two  Burmans  have  cost  me  more 


KAREN   TRADITIONS.  75 

than  the  whole  of  that  hundred  Karens."  Dr. 
Mason  writes,  **  The  first  Burman  I  baptized 
had  his  attention  drawn  to  Christianity  by  a 
tract  that  fell  into  his  hands ;  and  he  kept  read- 
ing and  thinking  to  himself  for  two  years  before 
he  called  on  me ;  and  we  had  to  converse  and 
discuss  every  point  of  the  Christian  system  and 
every  doctrine  of  Buddhism  a  whole  year  before 
he  could  fully  accept  the  offer  of  a  free  salva- 
tion ;  but,  from  the  time  that  that  point  was 
reached,  there  has  been  no  more  faltering.  He 
knows  whom  he  believes.  The  faith  of  a  Bur- 
man  is  the  faith  of  a  man,  welling  up  from  the 
depths  of  his  mental  faculties ;  but  the  faith  of 
a  Karen  is  the  faith  of  a  child,  with  no  deep 
roots  in  the  understanding.  The  Karens  are 
like  the  Samaritans,  who,  at  the  first  hearing, 
*with  one  accord  gave  heed  unto  those  things 
which'  Philip  spoke  ; '  but  the  Burmans  are  like 
the  Bereans,  who  *  searched  the  Scriptures  daily, 
whether  these  things  were  so.'  " 

It  is  a  striking  fact  that  the  Karens  have 
traditions  of  the  scattering  of  the  nations, 
and  beyond  this,  of  the  deluge,  and  then  of  the 
creation  and  fall  of  man,  coinciding  wonderfully 
with  the  statements  of  the  Bible.     The  follow- 


y6  MY   CHILD-LIFE   IN   BURMAH. 

ing  stanzas,  translated  by  the  late  Dr.  Mason, 
clearly  illustrate  this  fact :  — 

"Anciently  God  commanded,  but  Satan  appeared  bring- 
ing destruction. 
Formerly  God  commanded,  but  Satan  appeared  deceiving 

unto  death. 
The  woman  E-u  and  the  man  Tha-nai  pleased  not  the  eye 

of  the  dragon. 
The  persons  of  E-u  and  Tha-nai  pleased  not  the  mind  of 

the  dragon. 
The  dragon  looked  on  them, — the  dragon  "beguiled  the 

woman  and  Tha-nai. 
How  is  this  said  to  have  happened  ? 
The  great  dragon   succeeded   in  deceiving  —  deceiving 

unto  death. 
How  do  they  say  it  was  done  ? 
A  yellow  fruit  took  the  great  dragon,  and  gave  to  the 

children  of  God ; 
A  white  fruit  took  the  great  dragon,  and  gave  to  the 

daughter  and  son  of  God ; 
They  transgressed  the  commands  of  God,  and  God  .turned 

his  face  from  them. 
They  transgressed  the  commands  of  God,  and  God  turned 

away  from  them. 
They  kept  not  all  the  words  of  God  —  were  deceived, 

deceived  unto  sickness. 
They  kept  not  all   the   law  of    God  —  were   deceived, 

deceived  unto  death." 

The  Karens  believe  that  every  object  in  na- 
ture has  its  spirit  lord,  and  every  man  a  guard- 


KAREN    BURIAL.  7/ 

ian  spirit  and  many  unseen  foes ;  to  all  these 
they  must  make  annual  offerings  to  secure 
their  blessings,  and  avert  their  wrath  and  the 
calamities  which  they  inflict. 

The  Karens  usually  bury  their  dead ;  but 
sometimes,  if  circumstances  require  haste,  burn 
them,  and  then  a  bone  is  taken  from  the  ashes, 
often  the  backbone.  When  at  leisure  a  feast 
is  made,  and  the  bone  is  buried.  At  the  feast 
the  bone  is  placed  in  the  centre  of  a  large  booth, 
and  around  it  are  hung  the  articles  belonging 
to  the  deceased.  A  torch  is  placed  at  the  head, 
and  another  at  tbe  foot,  to  represent  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  stars,  which,  they  say,  are 
spirits  going  to  Hades  with  lights  in  their  hands. 
Around  the  whole  a  procession  marches,  sing- 
ing dirges.     The  following  is  a  specimen  :  — 

"  Mother's  daughter  is  proud  of  her  beauty  ; 
Father's  son  is  proud  of  his  beauty ; 
He  calls  a  horse,  a  horse  comes ; 
He  calls  an  elephant,  an  elephant  comes ; 
On  the  beautiful  horse,  with  a  small  back, 
He  gallops  away  to  the  silver  city. 
O  son  of  Hades,  intensely  we  pity  thee, 
Panting  with  strong  desire  for  the  tree  of  life. 

The  jambu  fruit,  the  jambu  fruit 
Hangs  drooping  o'er  the  lake, 


78  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

Red  jambu  flowers,  red  jambu  flowers, 

Hang  drooping  o'er  the  lake. 
Should  seeds  of  the  tree  of  life  still  exist, 
Then  man  wakes  up  from  death  in  Hades. 
O  son  of  Hades  !  intensely  we  pity  thee, 
Panting  with  strong  desire  for  the  tree  of  life." 


HEATHEN    FUNERALS.  79 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Heathen  Funerals. — The  Priesthood.  —  Buddhism. 

One  of  the  saddest  sights  to  be  seen  in  Bur- 
mah  is  a  heathen  funeral ;  and  there  is  scarcely 
a  day  but  that  one  or  more  passes  through  the 
principal  streets.  The  coffin,  covered  with  tin- 
sel and  bright-colored  paper,  is  placed  upon  a 
fantastic-looking  car,  that  is  decorated  in  the 
same  way,  and  often  has  the  addition  of  a  large 
peacock-plume  in  each  corner.  This  is  borne 
upon  men's  shoulders,  and  is  accompanied  by  a 
band  of  native  music  (i*).  They  stop  frequently, 
and  go  through  with  a  kind  of  drill  or  dance ; 
and  it  often  seems  as  if  the  car  would  topple 
over,  and  the  coffin  be  broken  to  pieces.  In  the 
procession  frequently  appear  eight  or  ten  carts, 
bearing  offerings  to  priests,  besides  a  great 
number  of  women  carrying  loaded  trays  upon 
their  heads.  Children  are  buried,  but  the 
bodies  of  adults  are  usually  burned.  The  place 
for  burning,  in  Toungoo,  was  three  miles  out 
of  the  city. 


80  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

I  once  attended  the  funeral  of  one  of  their 
priests.  It  was  an  occasion  of  great  festivity. 
The  body  had  been  embalmed  for  more  than  a 
year.  It  was  a  hot,  sultry  day.  There  was  not 
a  cloud  to  shield  from  the  scorching  rays  of  the 
sun,  nor  a  breath  of  air  to  refresh  the  panting 
devotees ;  but,  regardless  of  this,  the  eager 
throng  was  slowly  wending  its  way  through  the 
dusty  streets.  Not  a  tear,  nor  an  expression  of 
real  sorrow,  was  seen  or  heard  among  the  joy- 
ous crowd  ;  but,  in  the  distance,  we  heard  the 
groans  and  lamentations  of  the  hired  mourners. 
Mounting  our  ponies,  we  joined  the  procession. 
As  we  passed  the  pagodas  and  khoungs,  we  saw 
men,  women,  and  children  prostrate  before  the 
idols,  muttering  over  their  rosaries  their  "vain 
repetitions,"  such  as,  ''There  is  nothing  real, 
there  is  nothing  eternal,  all  is  trouble." 

On  arriving  at  the  grounds,  we  found  bamboo 
booths  scattered  here  and  there,  where  native 
confectionery  and  fruits  were  displayed  to  great 
advantage.  In  the  centre  of  the  field 'was  a 
curious  structure,  about  twenty  feet  in  height, 
resembling  a  pagoda.  It  was  made  of  bamboos 
and  paper,  and  covered  with  tinsel  and  lace. 
On  the  top  was  a  large  "//V^^,"  or  umbrella,  its 
rim   surrounded  with  little  tinkling  bells,   and 


FUNERAL    OF   A   PRIEST.  8 1 

with  long  lace  streamers,  which,  floating  in  the 
breeze,  wafted  prayers  to  Gaudama  in  behalf  of 
the  departed  one.  About  ten  feet  from  the 
ground,  in  the  centre  of  the  structure,  was  an 
enclosed  platform,  upon  which  the  body,  ele- 
gantly attired  and  surrounded  by  gaudy  trap- 
pings, was  eventually  placed  for  the  burning. 
Above  and  below,  the  structure  was  filled  with 
combustible  materials.  On  each  side  of  the  car 
upon  which  the  body  was  carried,  were  long 
ropes,  held  on  the  one  side  by  Shans,  and  on 
the  other  by  Burmans.  The  Shans  tried  to  pull 
it  towards  themselves,  crying,  *'You  shall  not 
carry  this  priest  away ; "  while  the  others,  pull- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction,  replied,  "We 
will,  yes,  we  will."  In  this  manner  they  spent 
the  greater  part  of  the  forenoon.  Finally  they 
attached  it  by  the  ropes  to  several  similar  but 
less  gorgeous  structures,  and  a  herald  announced 
that  the  burning  would  take  place  at  four  in  the 
afternoon.  In  the  mean  time,  we  examined  the 
various  objects  of  curiosity,  visited  the  stands, 
telling  the  way  of  life  to  all  who  would  listen. 
In  one  circle  drums  were  beating,  girls  were 
dancing,  and  people  were  laughing  and  quarrel- 
ling, a  medley  of  confusion.  In  another  group 
we  found  the  jugglers,  the  snake-charmers,  and 


82  MY   CHILD-LTFE    IN    BURMAH. 

fortune-tellers.  At  the  appointed  hour  the  peo- 
ple gathered  round  the  lofty  bier.  Rockets, 
made  to  represent  cannons,  with  grotesque  im- 
ages seated  upon  them,  were  sent  shooting 
along  the  ropes  into  the  car.  It  was  soon  after 
set  on  fire  by  the  nearest  relative,  and  the  body 
of  the  priest  speedily  consumed,  amid  the  shout- 
ings of  the  people,  the  beating  of  the  drums, 
and  the  roaring  of  the  flames.  The  several  at- 
tendant cars  were  burned ;  and  the  jaded  crowd 
returned  to  their  homes  without  a  tender  re- 
membrance of  the  departed,  or  a  thought  of 
the  solemn  future.  They  returned  to  live  on 
in  their  ignorance  and  superstition,  unless  some 
ray  of  light  from  the  Sun  of  righteousness 
should  find  its  way  to  their  hearts,  and  shed  a 
radiance  there. 

Buddhist  priests  are  usually  a  lazy  class  of 
men  who  enter  the  priesthood  for  the  sake  of 
an  easy,  comfortable  life.  They  practise  all 
manner  of  wickedness  under  the  cloak  of  sanc- 
tity. The  laws  of  their  religion  forbid  them  to 
wear  any  covering  upon  their  heads,  or  sandals 
upon  their  feet,  or  even  to  carry  an  umbrella. 
They  must  beg  their  food  from  door  to  door ; 
their  clothing  must  be  made  of  rags ;  they  must 
not  touch  money,  nor  look  at  a  woman.     If  a 


BUDDHIST    PRIESTS.  83 

priest's  own  mother  fall  into  the  river,  he  must 
not  touch  her  to  help  her  out,  though  he  may 
throw  her  a  stick,  or  something  she  can  lay 
hold  of.  They  are  intensely  devoted  to  some 
of  the  forms  of  their  religion  ;  but  those  requir- 
ing personal  privation,  they  pass  lightly  over. 
They  go  about  the  streets  every  morning,  it  is 
true,  to  collect  their  food  for  the  day ;  but  the 
best  of  every  thing  is  given  them.  Their  cloth- 
ing, so  far  from  being  made  of  rags,  is  often  of 
the  most  costly  material ;  though,  where  they 
are  particular  to  carry  out  the  letter  of  the  law, 
it  is  cut  into  small  pieces,  and  then  sewed 
together.  They  often  acquire  large  sums  of 
money  by  the  sale  of  articles  that  are  presented 
to  them  ;  and  in  some  cases  they  then  throw 
off  their  yellow  robes,  allow  their  hair  to  grow, 
and,  as  they  say,  "become  men  again."  The 
priesthood  in  Burmah  is  arranged  into  a  regu- 
lar hierarchy.  The  highest  man,  called  a  rahan- 
da,  is  a  kind  of  archbishop,  who  presides  over 
all  other  priests,  and  appoints  the  chiefs  of  the 
monasteries.  He  resides  at  the  imperial  court, 
where  he  is  regarded  one  of  the  greatest  men 
in  the  kingdom.  Below  him  are  various  ranks, 
of  priests,  all  supported  by  the  so-called  volun- 
tary offerings  of  the  people.     Their  power  over 


84  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

the  people  is  almost  unlimited.  If  a  priest  re- 
fuses to  receive  the  offerings  of  any  one,  that 
person  is  immediately  regarded  as  tabooed,  and 
calamity,  disaster,  and  ruin  stare  him  in  the  face. 
The  priests  are  worshipped  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  pagodas  and  images  of  Gaudama. 

"Buddhism  in  its  moral  precepts,"  says  one 
who  had  personal  acquaintance  with  it,  "is,  per- 
haps, one  of  the  best  religions  ever  invented  by 
man  ;  but  its  basis  is  entirely  false.  Instead  of 
a  heavenly  Father  forgiving,  and  filial  service 
from  a  pure  heart  as  the  effect  of  love,  it  pre- 
sents nothing  to  love,  for  its  deity  is  dead ; 
nothing  as  the  ultimate  object  of  action  but 
self,  and  nothing  for  man's  highest  and  holiest 
ambition  but  annihilation.  Their  doctrine  of 
merit  leaves  no  place  for  holiness,  and  destroys 
gratitude  either  to  God  or  man.  It  ministers 
to  pride  ;  for  the  very  fact  of  his  being  now  a 
man  assures  the  Buddhist,  that  in  former  trans- 
migrations he  must  have  acquired  incalculable 
merit,  or  he  would  not  now  occupy  so  distin- 
guished a  place  in  the  scale  of  being.  Their 
system  of  balancing  evil  with  good  reduces  all 
sin  to  a  thing  of  little  importance.  *If  any  man 
sin,'  in  Burmah,  his  religion  tells  him  of  'no 
advocate  with    the    Father,'  to  whom    he  may 


BUDDHISM.  85 

bring  a  believing,  penitent  heart ;  but,  instead, 
it  tells  him  he  may  repeat  a  form  of  words,  he 
may  feed  a  priest,  he  may  build  a  pagoda,  he 
may  carve  an  idol,  and  thus  balance  his  iniquity 
with  merit." 

An  intelligent  Burman,  talking  with  my 
mother,  said  that  his  sins  were  -as  broad  and 
deep  as  the  ocean  ;  but  his  good  deeds  were  the 
ship  in  which  he  sailed  safely  over. 

If  any  man  suffer,  in  Burmah,  his  religion 
points  him  to  no  place  where  *'  the  wicked  cease 
from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest,"  and 
where  '*  God  himself  will  wipe  away  all  tears  ;  " 
but  it  dictates  proud  submission  to  unalterable 
fate,  and  flatters  him  that  his  sufferings  here 
may  free  him  from  torment  in  some  future 
existence. 

If  any  man  die,  in  Burmah,  his  religion  tells 
him  of  no  Saviour  who  has  "passed  through  the 
grave,"  and  swallowed  up  death  in  victory;  but 
it  threatens  degradation,  perhaps  into  a  soulless 
brute,  or,  at  best,  into  a  place  of  expiatory 
misery.  In  short,  living  or  dying,  the  Burman 
may  be  said  to  be  "  without  hope  and  without 
God  in  the  world." 


86  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Seasons. —  Glimpses  of  Missionary  Occupations. — 
The  School.  —  Mountain-Travel.  —  Story  of  Moung 
Ong. 

In  Burmah  there  are  two  seasons,  the  wet  and 
the  dry.  About  the  loth  of  May,  showers  com- 
mence, and  increase  in  frequency,  until  late 
in  June  it  rains  daily.  This  continues  until  the 
middle  of  September,  Heavy  rains  then  cease, 
but  showers  continue  until  the  middle  of  Octo- 
ber. Even  in  the  rainy  season  the  sun  shines 
a  part  of  the  day,  and  the  rankest  vegetation 
covers  every  thing. 

To  give  a  clearer  glimpse  at  missionary  life, 
let  me  recall  a  day  or  two  which  are  samples  of 
most  of  the  days  in  the  dry  season,  when  mis- 
sionaries are  not  absent  on  jungle-trips.  As 
there  are  no  schools  for  missionaries'  children, 
and  no  associates  for  them  but  natives,  I  was 
necessarily  the  companion  of  my  parents  in  their 
visits  among  the  people,  as  well  as  in  their  work 
at  home. 


MORNING    RIDES.  8/ 

Missionaries  rise  early, — some  at  four,  most 
at  five  o'clock, — and  take  immediately  their 
"  little  breakfast,"  a  slice  of  bread  and  cup  of 
tea.  We  would  then  mount  our  ponies,  and 
ride  two  or  three  miles  to  some  neighboring 
village,  thus  reaching  the  people  before  they 
began  their  daily  toil.  Sometimes  the  presence 
of  the  little  white  child  would  be  sufficient  to 
draw  the  whole  village  together ;  sometimes  my 
father  would  sing  to  attract  them,  and  sometimes 
a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  strange  religion 
of  which  they  had  heard  a  little  would  bring 
them  together.  Often  a  group  of  women  would 
gather  about  my  mother,  more  curious  about 
the  whiteness  of  her  hand,  the  lens^th  of  her 
fingers,  and  the  number  of  her  garments,  than 
desirous  to  know  the  way  of  life.  But  with 
these  for  a  text,  and  their  curiosity  for  a  line  of 
argument,  she  would  weave  into  her  answers  to 
their  questions  the  principal  points  of  the  "  old, 
old  story,"  and  leave  them  with  thoughts  of  Jesus 
stirring  in  their  dark  minds. 

Sometimes  these  rides  were  prolonged  to  a 
village,  or  group  of  villages,  at  a  greater  dis- 
tance, and  the  day  spent  among  them.  Of  one 
such  day  my  mother  writes  :  "  Spent  the  day  at 
a  Burman  and  some  Shan  villages.     At  first  we 


SB  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

saw  only  young  persons,  and  inquired  if  there 
were  no  old  people  in  the  village ;  whereupon 
the  *  oldest  inhabitant '  was  immediately  sent 
for.  He  was  an  unusually  intelligent  old  man, 
eighty  years  of  age.  His  hair  was  white  as 
snow,  but  his  eye  brilliant  and  sparkling,  and 
his  teeth  unimpaired.  When  he  came  to  the 
house  where  we  were,  he  stopped  at  the  thresh- 
old, and  repeated  his  Burman  prayer,  '-Anneitsa, 
dokah,  annatta,  P'yah.' 

**We  were  sitting  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
house,  and  to  reach  us  he  must  climb  a  little 
ladder.  As  he  stepped  upon  the  ladder,  he 
stopped,  and  repeated  his  prayer  again,  and 
then  greeted  us  most  cordially.  I  wanted  to 
lead  his  mind  to  the  truth,  and  tell  him  of  Jesus  ; 
so  I  spoke  to  him  of  his  great  age,  his  white 
hair,  and  the  fact  that  we  must  all  die.  '  Yes,* 
he  said  with  great  earnestness,  *  there  are  three 
evils  we  must  all  endure,  —  sickness,  old  age, 
and  death.'  Two  of  these  he  had  already  expe- 
rienced, and  now  death  was  near.  Though  he 
prayed  very  much,  he  could  not  be  delivered 
from  this  last  evil,  —  his  god  could  not  deliver 
him.  'Do  you  know  any  god,'  he  asked,  that 
can  deliver  from  these  evils.'''  —  *  Yes,'  I  told 
him  :  "  my  God  can  deliver  from  all  these.     He 


AN    AGED    INQUIRER.  89 

is  not  like  Gaudama,  who  was  sick,  who  grew 
old,  and  died  when  he  was  just  your  age  ;  for  ray 
God  is  the  Eternal,  forever  established,  always 
the  same.  He  is  never  sick ;  he  cannot  grow 
old  ;  he  can  never  die.  He  can  and  will  deliver 
all  who  trust  in  him  from  all  the  evils  of  this 
world  and  the  greater  evils  of  the  next.'  I 
tried  to  tell  him  it  was  sin  that  brought  death 
into  the  world,  and  separated  us  from  God ;  so 
that  it  was  right  for  God,  though  he  had  all 
power,  to  let  us  suffer  and  die  before  he  received 
us  again  to  himself.  But  his  mind  seemed  to 
grasp  only  the  one  truth,  that  my  God  could 
not  grow  old,  be  sick,  or  die. 

**  Soon  he  heard  the  assistant  talking  with 
some  men  down-stairs,  and  he  said,  *  I  will  go 
down,  and  listen.'  As  soon  as  he  had  joined  the 
group,  he  repeated  what  I  had  said,  and  asked 
him  if  I  meant  it.  The  assistant  assured  him 
that  I  did,  and  that  it  was  very  true.  But  again 
and  again  the  old  man  said  it  over,  *  She  says 
her  God  cannot  be  sick,  grow  old,  or  die.'  It 
seemed  as  if  it  were  a  truth  he  wanted  to  grasp, 
and  longed  to  rest  upon ;  but  it  was  too  wonder- 
ful for  him.  The  assistant  tried  to  impress  that 
and  other  truths  upon  him  ;  and  he  listened  with 
great   interest,  seeming   to   feel   that   if   there 


90  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

could  be  such  a  God,  it  would  be  well  to  worship 
him. 

"  When  we  came  away,  after  I  had  mounted 
my  pony,  he  took  my  hand  in  both  of  his, 
stroked  and  patted  it  as  if  I  had  been  his  little 
child,  asked  me  to  come  again,  and  said  that 
when  he  came  to  town  he  should  certainly  come 
to  see  us."  A  year  later  my  mother  visited  the 
village  again,  and  found  the  old  man  still  living, 
though  he  had  failed  in  mind  and  body.  "  He 
came  tottering  to  see  us,"  she  writes,  **and 
shikoed,  that  is,  bowed  as  they  do  in  worship, 
but  without  his  heathen  prayer.  He  said  he 
had  been  very  lonely  for  us  :  he  had  thought  of 
us  with  loving  regret,  but  he  could  not  get  to 
town  to  see  us.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  prayed 
to  the  God  who  is  free  from  sickness,  old  age, 
and  death.  He  said,  '  Yes.'  I  asked  him  if  he 
trusted  in  Jesus,  and  he  said  '  Yes  ; '  still  I  could 
not  feel  sure  that  he  understood  sufficiently 
who  Jesus  is  to  exercise  a  saving  faith  in  him. 
Nevertheless  I  am  not  without  hope  that  he 
may  be  saved." 

At  about  the  same  time,  my  aunt  met  in  the 
same  village  an  old  woman  in  whom  she  was 
greatly  interested.  She  tried  to  talk  with  her, 
telling   her  she   had   come  to  bring   her  good 


AN    AGED    UNBELIEVER.  QI 

news,  to  show  her  the  way  in  which  she  might 
escape  the  evils  of  transmigration,  they  so  much 
dread,  and  attain  a  state  far  more  desirable  than 
nigban.  After  putting  forth  Jesus  as  lovingly 
as  she  could,  she  asked  her  if  that  was  not  good 
news.  You  may  judge  how  her  heart  fell  to 
hear  her,  though  striving  to  be  polite,  indiffer- 
ently reply,  *'  If  the  teacher  says  it  is  good,  it  is 
good."  —  "  But  do  you  not  know  it  is  good  1 " 
—  "  Oh  ! "  said  she,  "  I  am  a  woman  :  how  can  I 
know  any  thing.?"  Thus  we  have  encourage- 
ments and  discouragements ;  our  hearts  now 
tremble  with  hope,  and  now  quiver  with  despair. 
But  still  the  word  of  the  Lord  is,  *'  Go  teach  ; " 
and  what  are  we,  that  we  should  say  it  is  in 
vain  1  who  knoweth  which  shall  prosper,  or 
whether  both  shall  be  alike  good  "i  Again, 
mother  writes  :  "  At  another  village,  a  crowd  of 
little  girls  gathered  around  me,  and  I  wanted 
very  much  to  fix  in  their  minds  at  least  one 
truth  that  day ;  but  I  could  not  get  them  to 
say  a  word.  So  I  took  out  my  Burman  spell- 
ing-book, showed  them  the  letters,  and  tried  to 
have  them  call  them  after  me,  but  still  not  a 
word.  Then  I  thought  I  would  hire  them,  if 
possible,  for  in  some  way  I  must  reach  them 
with  the  truth.     I  hastily  thought  over  every 


92  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

thing  I  had  with  me,  but  could  hit  upon  noth- 
ing transferable  but  a  needle.  I  held  it  up,  and 
asked  who  wanted  that.  Several  wistful  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  it,  but  not  a  word  was  said. 
I  told  them  the  one  that  would  say  the  letters 
after  me  should  have  it,  and  began  calling  them. 
Soon  in  a  whisper  one  of  them  said,  ' kahghyee* 
and  then  another  whisper,  till  at  last  half  a  doz- 
en voices  were  repeating  the  letters  as  nicely 
as  I  could  wish.  After  going  through  the  let- 
ters several  times,  I  said  I  thought  they  had  all 
earned  the  needle,  but,  as  it  was  only  one,  I 
must  give  it  to  the  one  who  spoke  first :  but 
I  found  a  pin-ball  in  my  pocket,  so  I  gave  each  of 
the  others  a  pin,  the  first,  I  suppose,  they  had 
ever  seen.  Observing  the  head,  they  wanted  to 
know  what  they  must  do  with  that :  so  I  ex- 
plained how  they  could  fasten  a  jacket  —  sup- 
posing they  had  one  —  with  it,  at  which  they 
were  greatly  pleased.  I  then  took  the  cate- 
chism, and  asked  them  the  first  question,  'Who 
made  the  heavens  and  the  earth  and  all  things.?' 
Not  one  of  them  knew,  as  I  expected.  So  I 
gave  them  the  answer,  making  them  repeat  it, 
and  apply  it  to  the  various  objects  and  animals 
they  could  see,  till  I  felt  sure  they  would  not 
forget  it.     Then  I  took   the   second   question. 


LINE    UPON    LINE.  93 

*Who  is  God?'  and  the  answer,  *God  is  with- 
out beginning  or  end,  eternally  existing,  forever 
established,  unchangeably  the  same.'  This  I 
made  them  repeat  again  and  again,  till  I  thought 
they  would  remember  the  words,  though  they 
might  not  comprehend  the  meaning,  even  in  a 
slight  degree,  till  I  came  again.  I  did  not 
burden  their  minds  with  any  thing  further  that 
day.  If  they  remember  this  one  truth,  that 
God  made  all  things,  I  shall  feel  that  the  labor 
of  the  day  was  not  in  vain.  You  see  how  we 
have  to  work,  beginning  at  the  lowest  possible 
point,  giving  line  upon  line,  precept  upon  pre- 
cept, till,  were  it  not  for  the  everlasting  arms 
beneath,  we  should  weary  and  despair." 

If  our  ride  was  planned  only  for  the  morning, 
the  increasing  heat  of  the  sun  would  soon  force 
us  to  return  ;  and,  reaching  home  about  nine 
o'clock,  we  ate  our  heartier  breakfast. 

From  nine  till  four,  my  parents  were  occu- 
pied with  varied  work,  preaching,  teaching,  re- 
ceiving inquirers  and  other  visitors,  and  explain- 
ing to  them  the  religion  of  the  living  God.  Of 
the  number  of  things  demanding  the  mission- 
aries' attention,  people  here  have  but  little  idea.- 
The  missionary  and  his  wife  are  not  only  teach- 
ers, but  doctors  and  nurses  for  the  sick,  judges 


94  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

and  lawyers  for  those  who  have  any  quarrel, 
and  servants  of  all. 

We  dined  at  four  o'clock,  principally  upon 
rice  and  curry ;  often  upon  soup,  fowl,  fish,  and 
in  some  places  we  could  obtain  a  piece  of  meat. 
A  few  vegetables,  cucumbers,  yams,  tomatoes, 
and  a  poor  quality  of  sweet-potatoes,  were  some- 
times added. 

The  day  closed  as  it  began,  in  visiting  the 
neighboring  villages,  distributing  tracts,  and 
sowing  the  seed  of  the  kingdom. 

Burman  worship  was  always  held  in  our 
house,  at  dark.  This  closed  the  public  labors 
of  the  day.  The  natives  do  not  venture  out 
much  at  night ;  and  it  is  not  safe  for  any  one  to 
do  so,  unless  provided  with  lantern  or  cane,  on 
account  of  snakes  and  dogs.  The  weary  mis- 
sionary is  only  too  glad  to  retire  early,  after  a 
little  reading  and  writing,  in  order  to  be  ready 
for  an  early  start  the  next  morning. 

The  school  was  held  for  a  time  at  the  chapel, 
but  was  afterwards  on  our  compound,  and  some- 
times in  both  places.  The  scholars  were  gath- 
ered from  the  Burmans,  Shans,  and  Eurasians, 
and  were  first  taught  to  read  and  write  the  Bur- 
mese language.  A  Bible-lesson  was  given  to 
the  whole  school  daily,  and  there  were  classes 


SCHOOL-TRAINING.  95 

in  both  Old  and  New  Testaments.  Even  before 
they  could  read,  every  pupil  was  thoroughly 
taught  the  catechism  prepared  by  the  first  Mrs. 
Judson,  which  was  such  an  epitome  of  the  sav- 
ing truths  of  the  gospel,  that  we  felt  sure,  that 
having  committed  it  to  memory,  even  though 
they  learned  nothing  else,  they  might,  by  the 
power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  be  brought  to  Christ. 
They  were  further  taught  something  of  arith- 
metic, geography,  and  astronomy ;  the  two 
last  being  especially  useful  in  undermining  the 
Buddhist  religion.  The  average  cost  for  each 
pupil  was  about  five  rupees,  or  two  dollars  and 
a  half,  per  month.  This  includes  board,  cloth- 
ing, books,  and  medicines.  The  most  difificult 
part  of  their  education  is  training  them  in 
habits  of  order  and  neatness.  When  they  first 
enter  school,  all  smoke  cigars,  and  chew  the 
betel-nut ;  and  the  giving  up  of  these  two  prac- 
tices costs  them  a  great  effort.  They  have 
very  fixed  and  foolish  ideas  in  regard  to  work ; 
but  they  soon  learn  that  no  useful  labor  is 
degrading  to  Christian  people.  A  prayer-meet- 
ing was  held  sabbath  morning  at  six  o'clock, 
preaching  in  Burmese  at  ten  o'clock,  Sunday 
school  at  one,  and  preaching  again  at  five 
o'clock.  In  the  evening  another  prayer-meet- 
ing fitly  closed  the  day. 


96  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

The  school-work  and  preaching  in  town  is 
only  one  department  of  missionary  labor,  which 
is  carried  on  in  the  wet  season,  when  the  inces- 
sant rains,  swollen  streams,  and  flooded  roads 
render  travel  impracticable.  In  the  dry  season 
the  missionaries  travel  among  the  mountains 
and  jungle-villages,  preaching  and  distributing 
tracts.  My  father  had  made  several  journeys 
to  the  north  of  Toungoo,  visiting  people  who 
had  never  seen  a  white  person  until  he  went 
among  them.  His  journeys  were  often  attended 
with  great  danger ;  but  he  was  repaid  in  being 
able  to  plant  churches,  and  supply  them  with 
native  preachers.  These  mountaineers  and  jun- 
gle-people often  came  into  town  for  purposes 
of  trade  and  to  visit  the  missionaries.  Negh- 
yan,  a  mountain  chief,  with  a  large  number  of 
followers,  on  such  a  visit,  became  acquainted 
with  Moung  Ong,  one  of  our  most  promising 
Burman  disciples,  and  greatly  desired  to  take 
him  home  with  him  as  a  teacher  for  his  people. 
My  father  asked  Moung  Ong  if  he  were  willing 
'to  go.  His  countenance  fell,  and  without  reply- 
ing he  went  away  to  his  house.  It  would  be  a 
great  sacrifice  for  a  comparatively  refined,  intel- 
ligent Burman  to  leave  his  home,  and  go  to 
dwell  among  those  ruder  savages.     His  life  and 


MOUNG    ONG.  97 

health  would  be  imperilled ;  and,  moreover,  he 
would  be  cut  off  from  the  Christian  influences 
and  instruction  which  he  was  learning  to  prize. 
Moung  Ong  knew  this,  and  a  stern  conflict  was 
going  on  in  his  mind.  The  day  wore  away  ;  and 
in  the  twilight  he  came  to  my  father,  and  calmly 
said,  "Teacher,  when  people  are  thirsty  we 
must  give  them  water,  for  when  their  thirst  is 
gone  they  will  not  drink."  Oh  that  all  Chris- 
tians would  consider  this  !  Is  it  possible  that 
with  the  bread  of  life  and  the  refreshing 
waters  of  salvation  in  our  possession,  we  can 
withhold  them  from  the  millions  now  perishing  } 
A  few  days  later  he  started  with  the  chief  and 
his  company,  on  his  journey.  One  of  the  men 
bore  upon  his  back  the  first  whole  copy  of  the 
Bible  that  had  ever  made  its  way  up  these 
mountains.  It  was  a  well  of  water  at  which 
many  thirsty  souls  have  been  refreshed  and 
saved.  Moung  Ong  labored  there  a  few  years, 
was  then  taken  ill,  and  came  home.  He  died 
on  our  compound,  and  was  buried  in  the  mission 
burying-grounds.  Not  long  after,  my  eldest 
brother  was  taken  from  us,  and  sorrowfully  we 
laid  him  to  rest  by  the  side  of  Moung  Ong. 
Their  bodies  lie  side  by  side,  the  missionary 
child  and  the  native  Christian,  while  their 
spirits  are  "present  with  the  Lord." 


98  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Travel  in  Burmah. 

Ten  years  ago  there  was  not  a  single  railroad 
in  all  Burmah,  though  now  there  is  one  from 
Rangoon  to  Prome.  There  were  some  cart- 
roads,  but  no  good  carriage-roads  outside  the 
large  towns. 

Journeys  by  land  must  be  on  elephants,  in 
bullock  or  buffalo  carts,  or  on  ponies.  The 
latter  were  chiefly  used  in  all  our  mountain- 
travel  ;  for  through  forests  and  over  mountains 
we  had  only  a  narrow  footpath,  and  were  often 
obliged  to  cut  away  vines  and  branches  to  secure 
that.  Once,  when  riding  rapidly,  a  slender  vine 
growing  athwart  our  path  caught  one  of  our 
party  across  the  shoulders ;  and  a  sudden,  not 
to  say  surprising,  sitting-down  was  the  result. 
Sometimes,  where  the  forests  were  dense,  we 
were  obliged  to  follow  the  bed  of  a  stream  for 
miles.  On  one  trip  we  crossed  the  same  river 
twenty  times.  Not  far  from  home  was  a  large 
stream,  deep  and  with  a  strong  current.     It  was 


FORDING   THE    STREAM.  99 

necessary  to  cross  by  boat,  holding  the  pony's 
head  above  water,  and  making  him  swim,  care- 
ful to  keep  him  on  the  upper  side  of  the  boat, 
so  that  the  current  might  not  carry  the  boat 
upon  his  back. 

Father  wa^  once  returning  home,  after  an 
extended  trip  among  the  hills,  and,  on  reaching 
the  stream,  found  only  a  woman  there  to  ferry 
him  over.  The  pony  had  a  special  dislike  for 
water,  and  obstinately  refused  to  enter  the 
stream.  At  length  the  idea  seemed  to  come  to 
him  that  home  was  on  the  other  side.  Suddenly 
he  plunged  in  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  boat, 
swimming  with  such  force  as  to  carry  every 
thin-g  with  him.  Father  held  the  reins,  and  the 
woman  tried  to  steady  the  boat.  As  soon  as  the 
pony  touched  bottom,  he  rushed  for  the  shore, 
dragging  the  boat,  father  still  clinging  to  the 
reins.  The  woman  was  jerked  off  into  the 
water ;  but  hastily  gathering  up  her  falling 
robes,  paddle  in  hand,  she  waded  after.  A 
representation  of  the  scene  were  worthy  the 
genius  of  a  Nast. 

When  travelling  in  the  jungle,  we  must  be 
constantly  on  our  guard  against  wild  beasts  and 
poisonous  reptiles,  especially  if  we  are  obliged 
to   camp  in  the  woods.     The  missionary  then 


100  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

pitches  his  tent ;  or,  if  he  is  not  so  fortunate  as 
to  have  one,  he  constructs  a  bamboo  shelter, 
and  builds  a  large  fire  in  front.  Then  his 
attendants  form  a  circle  around  him,  and  build 
other  fires,  which  they  keep  burning  all  night. 
If  they  sleep  too  soundly,  and  the  fires  die,  they 
are  often  roused  by  the  crashing  of  a  wild  ele- 
phant among  the  trees,  or  by  some  mysterious 
crackling  of  twigs  and  bushes  ;  and  they  speedily 
renew  the  fires.  If  we  stop  for  the  night  in  a 
village,  the  missionary  and  perhaps  the  native 
preacher  occupy  the  chapel,  or  the  zayat  built 
for  the  accommodation  of  travellers.  On  one 
occasion  my  father  had  fastened  his  ponies  to 
trees  near  by,  and  had  retired  for  the  night. 
He  was  soon  awakened  by  their  stamping  and 
snorting :  he  hurried  out  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  Immediately  some  wild  beast  bounded 
away  through  the  bushes.  The  men  were  soon 
on  the  spot,  shouting  and.  pounding  on  the  house 
to  frighten  him  still  more.  The  footprints  proved 
it  to  be  a  tiger. 

By  water,  we  journeyed  in  the  little  boats 
before  described,  subject  to  the  caprices  of  indo- 
lent boatmen,  and  were  often  obliged  to  regulate 
our  course  by  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide,  lest 
we  be  cast  upon  the  quicksands  or  ingulfed  in 


A   BURMAN    ZAYAT. 


lOI 


A   NIGHT   OF   DANGER.  IO3 

a  flood  of  water.  The  tide,  as  it  comes  up  from 
the  sea  and  bay  into  the  Sitang  River,  finds  its 
path  suddenly  narrowed,  and  in  proportion  as 
the  space  diminishes,  the  formerly  gentle  tide 
swells  to  a  flood  of  angry  waters  many  feet  in 
height ;  and,  as  if  enraged  with  its  restrictions, 
the  deCy  or  boi'e,  rushes,  with  a  headlong  speed 
and  a  noise  like  thunder,  up  the  river,  carrying 
destruction  for  all  that  may  come  in  its  way. 
It  is  said  that  no  ordinary  ship  Could  stand  the 
force  of  this  roaring,  seething  mass  of  water, 
which  every  twelve  hours  makes  its  way  along 
these  shores.  It  may  be  possible  then  to  form 
some  idea  of  our  danger  in  our  frail  boat.  The 
only  way  of  escape  is  to  turn  aside,  when  time 
for  the  tide,  into  one  of  the  many  little  creeks 
fortunately  scattered  along  the  river,  and  there 
wait  till  the  dee  has  passed. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  experience  of  one 
dreary  night.  The  tide  had  been  very  low,  and 
consequently  our  boat  had  run  aground  often, 
and  we  had  been  obliged  to  move  slowly,  so  that 
darkness  came  upon  us  before  we  came  to  a 
creek.  The  time  for  the  dee  was  approaching, 
and  almost  certain  death  was  before  us  unless  the 
creek  could  be  reached.  Often  the  boatmen 
were  ready  to  despair,  and   to  forsake  all  and 


104  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

escape  to  land ;  but  my  father  urged  them  on 
with  repeated  assurances  that  a  creek  must  be 
near.  At  last  we  heard  the  roar  which  signalled 
its  approach.  Though  several  miles  distant,  it 
would  soon  be  upon  us.  What  anxiety  filled 
our  hearts  !  What  earnest  prayers  went  up  to 
the  Ruler  of  the  waves !  And  were  not  our 
prayers  answered  ?  We  gained  the  creek,  and 
had  barely  entered  it  when  the  dee  thundered 
past.  We  soon  entered  the  river  again  to  take 
advantage  of  the  current.  Danger  was  still 
ahead.  The  night  was  dark.  The  boatmen  who 
were  propelling  the  boat  by  planting  one  end  of 
the  pole  in  the  bank,  and  thus  pushing  the  boat 
along,  could  not  see  where  to  put  their  poles  ; 
and  at  one  time  several  tons  of  earth  loosened 
and  fell  just  as  we  passed  from  its  reach.  A 
little  nearer,  and  it  would  have  sunk  the  boat. 
Again,  an  old  tree  partly  overhanging  the  bank 
fell  within  a  few  inches  of  our  stern,  and  we 
were  saved.  My  little  brother's  prayer  that  night 
had  been,  **  O  Lord,  take  good  care  of  us  to-7iight^ 
and  don  t  let  any  thing  bite  us''  We  had  occa- 
sion to  remember  that ;  for  in  the  morning,  when 
my  father  awoke,  he  discovered  a  large  snake 
lying  along  the  edge  of  the  boat,  where,  if  he 
had  stretched  out  his  arm,  it  would  have  bitten 


DELIVERANCE.  10$ 

him.  We  afterwards  learned  that  early  on  this 
fearful  night  a  dear  missionary  whom  we  had 
visited  in  Rangoon  awoke  feeling  greatly  trou- 
bled about  us.  She  awoke  her  husband,  and 
said,  "  Our  friends  are  in  trouble  :  we  must  pray 
for  them."  And  they  did  pray,  scarcely  sleeping 
again  until  morning.  It  proved  to  be  the  time 
when  we  were  so  wonderfully  rescued  from  those 
successive  perils.  "The  angel  of  the  Lord 
encampeth  round  about  them  that  fear  him,  and 
delivereth  them." 


I06  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN   BURMAH. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Shway-da-Gong.  —  Mah  Mong. 

There  are  names  the  very  mention  of  which 
opens  the  windows  of  imagination  and  the  flood- 
gates of  memory,  and  carries  us  swiftly  through 
the  scenes  of  joy  or  sorrow  associated  with  them. 
The  pulse  of  the  whole  wc^rld  quickens  at  the 
word  Rome.  We  think  of  her  magnificence 
and  power ;  we  see  the  blood  of  the  martyrs 
poured  out ;  we  tremble  at  the  horrors  of  the 
inquisition ;  and  we  shrink  from  the  thought  of 
the  spiritual  thraldom  in  which  she  now  holds 
thousands  of  devotees. 

We  speak  of  Mecca,  and  behold  vast  proces- 
sions crossing  burning  deserts  or  threading 
lonely  wilds,  enduring  suffering  and  even  death, 
that  they  may  kneel  at  that  sacred  shrine. 

Washington,  our  own  Washington  ! 

"  Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
*  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land '  .'* " 

So   the  mention  of    Shway-da-Gong  sends  a 


PAGODA. 


107 


PAGODA. 


THE   SACRED    SHRINE.  IO9 

thrill  to  the  heart  of  every  Buddhist.  Its  power 
is  felt  not  only  throughout  Burmah,  but  in  all 
surrounding  countries.  It  is  the  Buddhist's 
most  sacred  shrine.  Eight  hairs  of  Gaudama 
are  said  to  have  been  deposited  beneath  it  when 
it  was  built  many  hundred  years  ago ;  and  choi- 
cest blessings  are  to  be  bestowed  on  those  who 
most  frequently  and  devoutly  bow  before  it. 

Like  our  church-spires,  the  pagoda  tapers,  like 
an  uplifted  finger,  toward  the  skies ;  but  its 
golden  H'tee  at  the  top  turns  downward  again 
to  earth,  —  fit  emblem  of  the  reaching-up  of 
heathen  hearts  toward  heavenly  things,  yet 
crushed  to  earth  again  by  the  gilded  shelter  of 
good  works. 

Nine  pilgrimages  to  that  pagoda  entitle  one 
to  annihilatioai,  —  the  Buddhist's  only  heaven; 
and  so  the  fond  mother  fastens  her  babe  upon 
her  back,  and  toils  on  foot  over  mountains  and 
valleys,  fording  streams,  pillowed  by  night  on 
the  ground,  and  canopied  by  the  sky,  in  the 
hope  that  some  time  during  his  life  her  child 
may  make  the  requisite  number  of  journeys, 
counting  this  as  one  of  them  ;  and,  though  she 
may  fail,  he  may  attain  the  desired  haven. 

See  the  pilgrims  gather, — from  all  Burmah, 
from   Assam   and  Siam,  from  the  numberless 


no  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

mountain-tribes,  from  Shanland,  and  even  from 
China;  ''these  from  the  North,  these  from  the 
South,  and  these  from  the  land  of  Sinim  "  —  to 
prostrate  themselves  before  this  mass  of  brick 
and  mortar  and  outward  gilding.  When,  O 
Immanuel !  shall  these  multitudes  turn  unto 
thee  as  doves  to  their  windows  ?  Oh,  hasten 
the  time  when  the  heathen  shall  be  given  thee 
as  thine  inheritance,  and  "the  knowledge  of  the 
Lord  shall  cover  the  earth  as  the  waters  cover 
the  sea"  ! 

It  is  painful  to  witness  the  zeal  of  idolaters 
in  worshipping  their  false  gods.  "  Only  yester- 
day," writes  a  missionary,  ''the  streets  were 
filled  with  an  eager,  e:^cited  throng,  all  wending 
their  way  to  the  pagoda.  A  new  idol  had  just 
been  brought  from  Mandelay,  for  which  hun- 
dreds of  rupees  had  been  paid ;  and  the  crowd 
was  going  to  see  it  placed  in  a  niche  of  the 
pagoda."  Never  a  day  passes  that  the  idol 
shrines  are  not  filled  with  offerings  of  fruit  and 
flowers  and  food.  Beggars  and  lepers  line  the 
approaches.  Heathen  duns,  with  shaven  heads 
and  white  robes,  hover  around  to  clean  the  altars 
and  sweep  the  walks,  in  order  to  gain  merit. 
Aged  men  and  women  creep  up  the  steps,  and 
pluck  every  blade  of  grass  growing  between  the 


THE    NEW   H  TEE.  Ill 

bricks.  Numbers  of  deluded  worshippers  are 
constantly  prostrate  before  the  various  altars, 
and  the  murmur  of  their  prayers  is  interrupted 
only  by  the  frequent  tones  of  the  great  bells. 

Not  long  ago  the  king  of  Burmah,  the  father 
of  the  present  king,  Theebaw,  placed  a  new 
H'tee  upon  this  pagoda  ;  and,  being  a  very  meri- 
torious deed,  it  drew  together  a  great  concourse 
of  people.  It  had  been  said  that  whoever 
should  put  a  H'tee  upon  Shway-da-gong  should 
become  ruler  of  Pegu ;  and,  doubtless,  some 
hope  of  political  power,  as  well  as  religious 
merit,  entered  into  the  mind  of  the  king. 

The  cost  of  this  //V^^was  estimated  at  about 
six  lacs  of  rupees,  or  tlvee  hundred  thousand 
doHars.  It  consisted  of  a  frame-work  of  iron 
covered  with  gold-plate.  This  frame  was  made 
of  seven  rings,  or  terraces,  growing  smaller 
towards  the  top :  the  diameter  of  the  largest  is 
twelve  feet.  Each  of  these  rings  is  studded 
with  gems ;  but  they  are  too  small  to  be  seen 
when  on  the  top  of  the  pagoda,  three  hundred 
and  seventy-three  feet  from  the  ground. 

The  gem  of  greatest  value  is  an  emerald  in 
the  very  top  of  the  structure.  The  H'tee  was 
carried  in  pieces  from  its  landing-place  to  the 
pagoda;   and   the   road   for  a  distance   of   two 


112  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

miles  was  covered  with  white  cloth  by  a  devout 
resident  of  the  town.  It  was  placed  under  a 
building  erected  for  the  purpose,  enclosed  by 
a  railing,  inside  which  only  a  favored  few  were 
permitted  to  enter.  Four  large  golden  candle- 
sticks of  elaborate  workmanship,  presents  from 
the  four  queens  at  Mandelay,  were  placed  on  a 
stand  near  the  H'tee^  with  many  other  costly 
gifts. 

It  remained  on  exhibition  a  month.  During 
that  time,  two  missionary  ladies,  assisted  by 
two  or  three  native  Christians,  distributed  twen- 
ty thousand  tracts  among  the  strangers  that 
came  from  all  parts  of  the  country.  They 
spread  mats  in  the  little  zayats  built  on  either 
side  the  steps  leading  to  the  pagoda,  and,  seated 
upon  low  stools,  talked  to  the  crowd  who  gath- 
ered around.  In  only  two  or  three  instances 
was  a  tract  destroyed.  Numbers  were  probably 
carried  to  places  where  no  preacher  or  white 
book  has  ever  been.  This  was  sowing  seed  by 
the  wayside,  and  some  of  it  will  bring  forth  good 
fruit. 

During  these  weeks  of  religious  festivity, 
offerings  of  gold  and  silver  were  day  by  day 
poured  into  the  treasury  at  the  pagoda.  The 
more  lavishly  money  was  spent  on  this  occasion, 


MERITORIOUS    OFFERINGS.  II 3 

the  greater  merit  would  be  attained.  An  old 
woman  would  totter  up  to  the  railing,  and,  care- 
fully unrolling  her  old  soiled  handkerchief,  de- 
posit a  precious  stone,  or  a  roll  of  gold,  the 
savings  of  years.  Mothers  stripped  the  chains 
and  bracelets  from  their  little  ones,  and  divested 
themselves  of  their  own  ornaments,  while  those 
who  had  nothing  else  to  give  cut  off  their  hair 
for  an  offering ;  and  one  poor  old  woman,  in  the 
warmth  of  her  zeal,  cut  off  a  finger,  and  burned 
it  up. 

The  pagoda  from  base  to  summit  was  incased 
in  a  network  of  bamboos  which  made  the 
ascent  comparatively  easy.  Many  Europeans 
scaled  the  height,  and  were  rewarded  by  a  mag- 
nificent view  of  the  surrounding  country.  The 
old  H'tee  was  removed  with  great  care,  and  re- 
ceived its  full  share  of  adoration.  The  storms 
of  centuries  had  not  left  it  unscathed.  It  was 
a  poor,  dilapidated  piece  of  iron  frame,  with 
scarcely  a  bit  of  gold  remaining.  Ring  after 
ring,  the  new  H'tee  was  elevated,  by  a  contriv- 
ance of  ropes  and  pulleys,  to  its  place. 

The  day  on  which  the  first  ring  was  to  be 
placed  in  its  position,  seventy  thousand  people 
were  estimated  to  be  present.  *' Such  a  com- 
pany and  such  a  scene,"  writes  a  missionary, 


114  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN   BURMAH. 

"beggars  description.  When  the  signal  was 
given  to  pull  the  ropes,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren seized  them  frantically,  and  slowly  the  car 
was  raised  above  the  heads  of  the  excited  multi- 
tude. Shouts  and  cheers  of  the  wildest  sort 
rent  the  air,  which,  mingled  with  the  din  of 
their  horrible  instruments  of  music,  was  almost 
deafening.  Parents  held  their  little  ones  high 
up  in  their  arms,  that  they  might  not  lose  the 
sight.  Men  and  women  danced  wildly  about, 
waving  their  hands  in  response  to  the  shouts 
and  gesticulations  of  those  who  had  ascended 
the  frame-work  of  the  pagoda.  Old  men  and 
women,  who  had  probably  dragged  their  feeble 
limbs  up  the  steep  ascent  for  the  last  time, 
were  prostrate  on  the  ground,  with  hands  clasped 
and  eyes  raised  with  such  an  intensity  of  desire 
and  eagerness  in  their  expression,  as  was  pain- 
ful in  the  extreme  to  witness.  As  the  car  rose 
higher  and  higher,  the  enthusiasm  increased. 
It  was  near  the  top  when  a  rope  broke,  then 
another.  Is  the  judgment  of  God  about  to  de- 
cend  upon  the  heads  of  this  guilty  throng  ?  It 
was  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense.  But  no ! 
vengeance  is  delayed  •:  the  remaining  ropes  hold 
fast.  .  With  a  faint,  suffocated  feeling,  we 
forced  our  way  out  of  the  crowd  and  down  the 


PAGAN    MONUMENTS.  II5 

steps.  We  felt  as  if  the  whole  structure  was 
about  to  fall  in  token  of  God's  displeasure  with 
idolatrous  worship." 

The  next  day,  in  attempting  to  replace  the 
ropes  that  were  broken,  two  Shans  fell  from 
the  top,  and  were  instantly  killed.  One  old 
woman  was  crushed  to  death.  Another  made  a 
vow  that  she  would  walk  around  the  pagoda 
seven  times  ;  but  before  the  seventh  round  was 
accomplished  she  fell  and  expired.  Many  such 
incidents  occurred.  Two  children  were  born 
there,  and  their  mothers  were  considered  most 
fortunate  beings. 

At  last  the  H'tee  is  fixed,  the  offerings  ended, 
and  the  crowd  dispersed ;  and  Shway-da-gong 
still  stands,  as  before,  a  mass  of  brick  and  mor- 
tar and  outward  gilding.  Like  human  merit, 
the  foundation  of  the  religion  it  symbolizes,  it 
is  the  wonder  and  admiration  and  end  of  desire 
to  multitudes;  but  it  saves  none,  and  has  no 
power  to  bless  mankind. 

Pagodas  are  scattered  throughout  Burmah  and 
in  all  Buddhist  countries.  They  are  the  monu- 
ments of  Gaudama,  the  visible  indications  of 
his  present  power  over  the  hearts  of  men.  Pa- 
ganism and  the  various  forms  of  false  religion 
have  need  to  mark  their  existence  by  material 


Il6  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

symbols  :  they  make  no  change  in  men.  The 
heart  that  is  impure  and  unholy  when  it  embraces 
Buddhism,  Brahminism,  or  Mohammedanism,  is 
impure  and  unholy  still.  It  produces  no  change 
in  life,  and  in  death  it  gives  no  light. 

What  are  thy  monuments,  O  Christ  ?  What 
marks  thy  presence  and  power  among  men  ? 
Come  with  me  to  our  unobtrusive,  ungilded, 
unornamented  chapel  in  Toungoo.  It  is  sabbath 
morning.  Behold,  among  the  natives  gathered 
there,  a  woman  pale  and  weary  ;  beside  her  are 
two  little  girls,  also  tired,  travel-stained,  and 
footsore.  They  are  Shans.  A  neighbor  of 
theirs  last  year  came  down  to  Toungoo,  and 
was  employed  by  my  father  to  take  care  of  his 
pony.  In  doing  this,  he  heard  the  truth,  and 
was  converted ;  and  like  Andrew  and  Philip, 
who  quickly  made  known  the  Messiah  they  had 
found,  he  wrote  back  to  his  native  village  that 
there  was  a  teacher  in  Toungoo  who  knew  the 
way  to  heaven  ;  and  that  he  had  found  that  way, 
and  it  was  very  good.  He  urged  them  all  to 
come,  and  enter  with  him  that  blessed  way. 
This  woman,  a  widow,  with  her  two  little  daugh- 
ters and  several  neighbors,  at  once  came  down. 
They  were  obliged  to  steal  away  ;  for  the  Burman 
king,  to  whom  the  Shan  States  are  tributary,  had 


THE   ORPHAN    GIRLS.  11/ 

all  the  roads  guarded  by  soldiers  to  prevent  the 
emigration  of  Shan  families  to  the  mild,  attrac- 
tive government  of  British  Burmah.  They  hid 
in  the  jungle  by  day,  and  made  their  way  cau- 
tiously through  it  by  night,  till  they  were  out  of 
the  territory  of  the  Burman  king.  They  were 
the  first  of  their  race  to  undertake  a  religious 
journey,  not  to  worship  at  pagodas,  but  to  hear 
of  Jesus.  The  mother  soon  sickened  and  died  ; 
but  the  daughter,  some  years  after,  when  she 
was  a  Christian,  said  of  her,  "  I  think  my  mother 
is  in  heaven,  for  she  believed  in  Jesus  as  soon 
as  she  heard  of  him." 

My  mother  took  the  little  girls,  — Mah  Mong 
and  Mah  Shway,  —  and  taught  them  the  way  of 
life  their  mother  had  brought  them  so  far  to 
learn.  They  were  both  converted.  Mah  Shway 
married  a  Shan  disciple,  and  is  still  living,  a 
faithful,  loving  wife,  a  devoted  mother,  and  use- 
ful Christian.  Mah  Mong  married  a  Burman 
disciple,  and,  with  him,  engaged  in  service  in 
the  family  of  an  English  officer.  So  faithful 
and  trustworthy  were  they,  that,  when  the  family 
left  Burmah  for  India,  they  took  them  with  them. 
After  a  few  years  they  returned  to  Burmah, 
bringing  with  them  their  only  child,  a  little  boy, 
the  delight  of  both  their  hearts.    This  little  boy 


Il8  MY    CHILD-LIFE   IN    BURMAH. 

was  not  taught  to  fold  his  hands,  and  worship 
idols,  but  to  lisp  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  to  re- 
peat the  sweet  words,  "  Suffer  little  children  to 
come  unto  me."  When  four  years  of  age,  just 
when  he  was  most  closely  twined  with  every 
fibre  of  his  mother's  heart,  one  of  the  many 
diseases  that  prey  upon  little  ones  there  fell 
upon  him.  Mah  Mong  did  not  shriek,  tear  her 
hair,  or  rend  her  garments ;  but,  sustained  by 
the  love  of  Christ,  stronger  than  any  earthly 
love,  she  sat  by  his  side,  and  told  him  the  way 
of  life.  When  he  felt  the  chill  touch  of  death, 
his  little  heart  shrank,  and  he  said,  ''I  'fraid, 
mamma."  Choking  back  her  tears,  she  said, 
**Do  not  be  afraid,  my  darling.  The  Saviour 
calls  you :  he  wants  you  in  his  beautiful  home 
above."  And  the  little  child,  assured  and  com- 
forted, went  to  be  with  Jesus. 

Mah  Mong  was  ever  ready  to  do  what  she 
could  to  make  known  the  glad  tidings  to  her 
people.  She  was  the  companion  and  friend  of 
missionaries.  Said  one  who  was  with  her  in 
her  last  days,  "We  all  loved  Mah  M5ng  so  much. 
She  was  like  a  sister  to  me."  But  her  health 
failed,  and  she  was  called  to  endure  a  long  and 
painful  illness.  She  was  a  most  patient  sufferer, 
grieving  most  of  all  that  the  time  necessarily 


MAH   MONG.  119 

spent  in  caring  for  her  could  not  be  devoted  to 
teaching  those  who  were  not  Christians  ;  and, 
when  the  missionary  mamma  put  off  her  jungle- 
trip  to  remain  with  her,  she  said,  **  O  mamma,  I 
am  so  long  in  dying !  If  I  could  go  home  now, 
you  could  go  to  the  jungle,  and  carry  the  good 
news," 

As  the  missionary  was  entering  her  room  one 
day,  she  heard  her  praying,  and  paused  at  the 
door.  She  was  saying,  *'  O  Lord,  let  thy  will 
be  done.  Thou  knowest  how  long  I  have  suf- 
fered, and  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  come  to  Thee. 
Call  me  now,  if  Thou  canst.  Thy  will,  not 
mine,  be  done."  The  missionary  was  not  well ; 
and  Mah  Mong  quickly  noticed  her  pale  face, 
and  tenderly  urged  her  to  take  medicine,  that 
she  might  be  strong  to  tell  her  people  the  way 
of  life.  When  the  missionary  went  in  the  next 
day,  her  husband  said,  "  Mah  Mong  had  a  pecul- 
iar experience  last  night.  She  awoke  me  by 
making  a  strange  noise.  I  asked  her  what  was 
the  matter.  She  said,  *  I  am  trying  to  sing.  My 
heart  is  full  of  light.  Oh,  I  am  so  happy !  I 
thought  I  had  arrived  at  the  heavenly  city. 
The  door  was  open,  and  I  saw  the  golden  streets, 
and  an  angel  came  out  and  talked  with  me. 
He  said,  "  You  must  wait  a  little,  Mah  Mong. 


120  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

The  Lord  will  call  for  you  after  Christmas/'  I 
asked  him  about  the  mamma :  would  she  come 
soon  ?  but  I  could  not  hear  what  he  said  about 
her/  "  And  so  said  she  to  the  mamma,  "  Do  not 
put  off  the  Christmas-tree/'  referring  to  Christ- 
mas plans  that  were  likely  to  be  deferred  on  ac- 
count of  her  precarious  state :  "  I  shall  not  die 
till  after  Christmas,  and  I  want  you  all  to  have 
a  good  time/'  So  the  Christmas  gathering  was 
held,  and  those  who  made  presents  remembered 
her.  The  morning  after,  the  missionary  car- 
ried Mah  Mong's  presents  to  her.  Her  face 
was  full  of  joy.  She  received  the  presents 
gratefully,  and  said,  "  How  kind  every  one  is  to 
me !  These  are  beautiful  presents ;  but  one 
thought  of  the  home  to  which  I  am  going  is 
worth  more  than  all  these,  and  I  am  going  soon 
now."  The  next  day  she  heard  the  call,  and 
went  up  higher.  Such  are  thy  monuments,  O 
Prince  of  Peace !  When  Shway-da-gong  shall 
have  crumbled  into  smallest  dust,  Mah  Mong 
**  shall  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament 
and  as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever." 


THE   FIRST   SEPARATION.  121 


CHAPTER   X. 

The  First  Separation.  —  Boghyee.  —  Moung  See  Dee.— 
The  Padoungs. 

My  first  experience  of  the  great  trial  —  sep- 
aration from  parents  —  which  sooner  or  later 
must  darken  the  life  of  every  missionary  child, 
was  in  the  dry  season  of  1864,  when  my  father 
and  mother  made  the  first  missionary  journey 
to  the  Shan  States.  They  committed  my  baby 
brother  and  myself  to  the  care  of  kind  mission- 
ary friends,  at  whose  house  we  all  passed  the 
night  previous  to  their  departure. 

Well  do  I  remember  the  events  of  the  follow- 
ing morning.  After  a  hasty  breakfast  we  gath- 
ered in  front  of  the  house.  There  were  the 
ponies  upon  which  my  father  and  mother  were 
to  ride,  the  Burman  and  Karen  preachers  who 
were  to  assist  in  proclaiming  the  truth,  and  the 
coolies  with  their  baskets  of  provisions  and 
books. 

Conspicuous  among  them  all  was  the  venera- 
ble San  Quala,  who  always   reminded   me   of 


122  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

David  of  the  Old  Testament,  or  Paul  of  the 
New,  ready  to  give  his  parting  benediction,  re- 
joicing that  still  farther  into  his  darkened  coun 
try  the  light  of  life  v^as  to  penetrate.  A  hymn 
was  sung ;  Rev.  Mr.  Cross  then  fervently  com- 
mended the  travellers  to  loving  Omnipotent 
care ;  a  last  kiss  was  bestowed  upon  baby  fast 
asleep  in  his  pakett,  and  upon  the  tearful  little 
girl  standing  near,  and  they  were  gone.  Should 
we  ever  see  them  again  t  Yes,  sooner  than  we 
expected ;  for,  having  penetrated  to  the  borders 
of  Shan-land,  a  mutiny  of  the  coolies  com- 
pelled them  most  unwillingly  to  abandon  the 
journey,  and  return  to  Toungoo. 

On  their  way  back,  they  were  met  by  Bo- 
ghyee,  the  most  powerful  of  Geckho  chiefs,  who 
said,  "Why  do  you  go  to  the  Shans  ?  They  are 
a  bad  people  ;  they  have  no  truth  :  why  do  you 
not  preach  to  us  .-*  My  people  have  not  heard 
your  law  so  much  as  once.  Preach  to  me." 
My  father  began  by  telling  of  God,  the  creation, 
the  first  human  beings,  pure  and  holy,  their  fall, 
and  the  consequent  sin,  sorrow,  suffering,  and 
death  of  the  human  race.  To  all  this  Boghyee 
assented.  ''  Koiing-dehy  kozmg-dehy'  said  he, 
"  it  is  good,  your  words  are  very  true  :  we  have 
all  sinned,  we  all  have  sorrow  and  suffering,  and 


A    PAKETT    OR    BURMAN    CRADLE.  1 23 


A  PAKETT  OR  BURMAN  CRADLE. 


SEEKERS    FOR   TRUTH.  12$ 

must  die."  My  father  went  on  to  say,  that, 
while  in  this  present  state  all  men  were  in  very 
much  the  same  condition,  in  the  future  state 
there  would  be  a  difference :  there  was  a  world 
of  woe,  and  a  heaven  of  eternal  glory.  The  old 
man  eagerly  interrupted,  '^  Koung-gJiiti  Ian  pyah 
bak,  pyah  bah,  ter  yoiik  gJiyn  the.''  **  Show  me, 
show  me  the  road  to  heaven  :  I  very  much  want 
to  arrive  there." 

My  father  then  preached  to  him  Christ,  the 
way  to  eternal  life.  He  received  the  truth  with 
gladness.  "  You  must  come  to  my  village," 
said  he.  "I  have  twenty  villages.  We  will  build 
a  chapel  in  every  village,  and  my  people  will 
learn  books  and  worship  God." 

My  father  heard  these  words  with  feelings  of 
mingled  gladness  and  grief;  glad  that  a  spirit 
of  inquiry  was  given  to  these  hearts,  and  grieved 
that  he  had  not  a  man  to  send,  or  the  means  to 
support  him  there. 

But  behold  the  hand  of  God!  Among  the 
letters  in  Toungoo,  awaiting  his  arrival,  was 
one  from  a  gentleman  residing  in  Rochester, 
N.Y.  He  had  earnestly  desired  in  early  life  to 
be  a  missionary,  but  circumstances  had  prevent- 
ed. His  heart  was  in  the  work,  and  he  wished  to 
have  some  one  preach  for  him  among  the  hea- 


126  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

then.  He  would  not  ask  for  a  Paul  or  an  Apol- 
los  ;  but  for  ''a  good  man,  full  of  faith  and  the 
Holy  Ghost,"  the  funds  for  whose  support  he 
would  gladly  furnish.     Here  were  the  means. 

He  also  found  awaiting  him  a  young  man,  a 
Karen  by  birth,  who  had  spent  two  years  at  the 
theological  school  in  Rangoon.  He  spoke  Bur- 
mese fluently,  as  well  as  several  Karen  dialects, 
and  was  anxious  to  work  for  the  Master  wher- 
ever he  was  needed.  Here  was  the  man  ;  not 
twenty  men,  but  one  man  ;  and  in  these  coinci- 
dences the  leading  hand  of  God  was  manifest. 

This  young  man,  Moung  See  Dee,  was  sent 
as  soon  as  possible  to  Shway-nan-ghyee,  one  of 
the  principal  Geckho  villages,  where  he  entered 
upon  his  life-work  of  preaching  and  teaching 
the  gospel,  and  the  people  gathered  about  him 
with  confidence  and  regard.  To  encourage  the 
women  and  girls  to  learn,  my  mother  told  him 
she  would  give  a  Testament  and  jacket  to  every 
one  of  them  who  learned  to  read  the  Bible. 
Before  the  end  of  the  dry  season,  Moung  See 
Dee  came  down  to  Toungoo,  attended  by  a 
group  of  Geckhos  ;  and  among  them  six  girls 
came  to  claim  the  promised  gift.  It  was  a  day 
never  to  be  forgotten.  I  thank  God  it  was 
given  to  me,  as  a  little  child,  to  hear  their  low 


TH  RAH    TAH    DEE.  12/ 

voices  timidly  reading  the  second  chapter  of 
Matthew,  to  prove  their  right  to  the  prize,  and 
to  see  put  into  their  hands  the  first  copies  of 
his  Word  ever  any  woman  of  their  tribe  had 
owned. 

The  jackets  were  of  calico,  a  yard  and  a  half 
in  each.  They  were  of  very  little  real  value ; 
but  in  their  eyes,  when  the  promise  was  first 
made  to  them,  worth  more  than  many  Bibles. 

The  word  of  God  has  never  yet  returned  void. 
Ere  long  my  father  was  called  upon  to  organize, 
at  this  village,  the  first  church  among  the  Geck- 
hos.  A  beautiful  group  was  baptized,  among 
them  the  chiefs  daughter,  one  of  the  six  above 
mentioned,  who  afterwards  became  the  young 
preacher's  wife. 

Several  other  chapels  were  opened  among 
these  tribes,  when  my  father  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  country.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Bunker  then 
took  charge  of  this  field,  to  whom  we  are  indebt- 
ed for  further  accounts  of  Moung  See  Dee's  — 
now  called  Th'rah  Tab  Dee  ^  —  interesting 
work. 

^  The  various  races  of  Burmah  have  no  family  names,  and 
the  names  by  which  they  are  called  are  changed  according  tcT*' 
age,  situation,  and  circumstances.  Moung  See  Dee  is  the  Bur- 
man  name  by  which  he  was  known  as  a  young  man.  Moung  is 
a  general  appellation,  meaning  brother.  Th'rah  means  teacher, 
and  he  is  now  known  as  Teacher  Tah  Dee. 


128  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

After  this  church  at  Shway-nan-ghyee  was 
well  established,  Tah  Dee  was  anxious  to  push 
into  new  regions,  and  took  up  his  abode  in  a 
very  wild  village  called  Prai-so,  a  full  day's  jour- 
ney beyond.  After  two  or  three  years'  work 
here,  a  church  was  organized;  and,  after  settling 
a  pastor  over  it,  Th'rah  Tah  Dee  again  pushed 
on  This  time  he  crossed  the  watershed  range 
of  mountains,  between  the  Salwen  and  Toun- 
goo  Rivers,  which  had  never  before  been  crossed 
by  a  religious  teacher,  save  once  by  my  father 
and  his  company,  years  before.  This  range 
runs  north  and, south.  Passing  over  it  towards 
the  east,  you  look  down  into  a  long,  narrow  val- 
ley of  peculiar  beauty. 

The  boundaries  of  several  tribes  meet  here  ; 
and  Tah  Dee,  perceiving  how  important  a  posi- 
tion this  valley  would  be  in  the  advance  of 
Christianity,  established  himself  at  a  Padoung 
village  called  Wah-thaw-ko. 

These  Padoungs  are  a  very  interesting  peo- 
ple, and,  until  Tah  Dee  went  among  them,  very 
few  had  heard  the  name  of  Jesus. 

The  first  to  hear  the  glad  tidings  came  down 
to  Toungoo  with  the  Geckho  chief  Neeghyan, 
on  one  of  his  visits  to  my  father.  He  started 
to  return  with  him  ;  but  after  two  days'  journey 


THE   FIRST   PADOUNG.  I29 

he  left  the  company,  and  came  back  to  Toungoo. 
He  gave  the  reason  for  this  step  as  follows : 
"  He  had  pondered  by  the  way,  the  things  he 
had  heard  of  the  teacher :  they  had  deeply  im- 
pressed his  mind ;  he  wanted  to  know  more 
about  them.  He  was  the  first  of  his  tribe  who 
had  heard  about  Jesus  Christ,  and  he  wanted 
all  his  people  to  hear.  He  did  not  understand 
enough  to  be  their  teacher ;  but  he  thought  if 
he  came  back  to  the  teacher,  and  studied  books, 
he  would  soon  be  able  to  teach  his  people,  and 
perhaps  he  could  persuade  the  teacher  to  go 
home  with  him  when  the  rains  were  over." 
Father  gladly  took  him  into  school.  He  was  a 
sprightly  young  man  about  twenty-five  years  of 
age,  and  spoke  Shan  perfectly.  He  gave  inter- 
esting descriptions  of  his  people.  After  study- 
ing a  while,  he  reluctantly  went  back  to  his 
country  as  a  guide  to  a  party  of  travellers  ;  but 
he  soon  returned,  bringing  with  him  six  of  his 
countrymen. 

Some  time  after  this,  while  at  a  mountain  vil- 
lage, a  Padoung  chief  and  seven  men  visited 
my  father.  They  had  never  seen  a  white  per- 
son ;  and,  when  they  had  a  fair  view  of  him, 
the  old  chief  exclaimed,  '' Amai !  amai !  is  it 
possible  such  men  can  be  good  .''  "     Three  of  the- 


130  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN   BURMAH. 

number  were  persuaded  to  shake  hands ;  but 
the  others  turned  their  backs,  and  no  amount 
of  persuasion  could  win  them. 

There  are  about  nineteen  thousand  Padoungs, 
distributed  in  sixty-two  villages.  The  tribe  is 
very  thrifty,  and  their  villages  are  permanent. 
Their  country  is  from  seven  thousand  to  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  has  a  compara- 
tively cool  climate,  and  the  people  are  more  ro- 
bust than  their  neighbors.  When  the  mission- 
ary first  visited  this  people,  their  villages  were 
surrounded  by  stockades  and  ditches,  and  the 
whole  country  was  in  a  state  of  feudal  war. 
Tab  Dee  labored  for  several  years,  and  in  1876 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Bunker  organized  the  first  church 
among  the  Padoungs.  He  found  then  no  stock- 
ade or  ditch  around  the  village.  He  saw  no 
frightened  people,  with  arms  for  protection, 
save  as  he  visited  other  villages  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. There  were  eleven  young  men  and 
women  awaiting  baptism.  Peace  had  come 
into  the  beautiful  valley,  and  war  had  retired 
to  the  hills  about.  A  good  schoolhouse  and 
chapel  had  been  erected ;  and  altogether  the 
changes  that  had  been  wrought  by  Tah  Dee,  as 
an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
were  truly  inspiring.     Last  accounts  give  more 


FRUIT    GATHERED.  I3I 

baptisms  and  evidences  to  show  that  the  light 
is  reaching  many  villages. 

Tah  Dee  has  made  many  and  extended  jour- 
neys throughout  the  Padoung  country,  and  we 
may  confidently  expect  a  large  harvest  from 
this  people  in  the  future.  He  has  peculiar 
qualifications  for  pioneer-work.  He  is  a  born 
leader  and  a  good  organizer.  He  is  a  brave 
man,  and  entirely  weaned  from  the  superstitions 
of  his  people.  He  has  been  instrumental,  alto- 
gether, in  the  planting  of  ten  churches,  and 
there  is  great  hope  of  future  usefulness.  Has 
not  the  gentleman  in  Rochester,  who  was  the 
means  of  putting  Th'rah  Tah  Dee  into  the  field, 
found  that  which  he  asked  for,  **a  good  man, 
full  of  faith  and  the  Holy  Ghost  "  ?  Has  he  not 
through  him  abundantly  preached  the  gospel 
to  the  heathen  ?  After  some  years  this  gentle- 
man's health  failed  ;  and  he  reluctantly  con- 
sented that  the  Cranston-street  Sunday  school, 
in  Providence,  R.I.,  should  furnish  Tah  Dee's 
support,  which  they  still  gladly  do.  Mr.  Phin- 
ney  was  not  a  rich  man  ;  but  he  brought  a  few 
loaves  to  Christ,  and  thousands  have  been  fed. 
Will  not  other  men  and  other  Sunday  schools 
do  likewise  ? 


132  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 


CHAPTER   XL 

Seven  Weeks  upon  the  Mountains. 

No  period  of  my  child-life  in  Burmah  do  I  re- 
call with  greater  interest  than  the  seven  weeks 
I  spent  among  the  mountains  lying  to  the  north- 
east of  my  home.  Upon  their  wooded  depths 
and  dusky  outline  I  had  often  gazed  with  a  kind 
of  awe,  wondering  what  of  life  was  hidden  there  ; 
and  great  was  my  delight  as  I  heard  talked  over 
the  plans  of  a  jungle-trip  in  which  I  was  includ- 
ed. These  mountains  are  the  homes  of  vari- 
ous Karen  tribes,  —  Bghais,  Geckhos,  Saukoos, 
Brecs,  Harshwees,  Padoungs,  and  Red  Karens ; 
and  beyond  these  lie  the  Shan  States,  called  in 
our  school-geographies  ''Laos." 

We  left  home  early  in  the  morning,  my  fa- 
ther, my  aunt,  and  myself,  accompanied  by  two 
native  preathers  and  several  coolies.  Our  pro- 
visions, cooking-utensils,  beds,  and  books  were 
carried  by  the  coolies  in  bamboo  baskets  sus- 
pended from  bamboo  poles  borne  across  their 
shoulders.      These  poles  are  the  lifelong  com- 


ONE   DAYS  JOURNEY.  I33 

panions  of  the  coolies,  and  to  them  they  profess 
very  great  attachment.  An  indignity  offered 
to  the  coolie's  bamboo  is  resented  much  more 
promptly  and  severely  than  if  offered  to  his 
mother.  He  says  he  loves  his  bamboo  just  as 
much  as  he  does  his  mother,  his  wife,  or  his 
child. 

We  travelled  about  twenty  miles  the  first 
day.  A  large  part  of  the  way  lay  over  a  burn- 
ing plain,  with  the  sun  almost  over  our  heads. 
Then  we  entered  shady  forests,  our  narrow 
pathway  winding  along  the  banks  of  a  river, 
where  our  eyes  were  constantly  delighted  by 
the  heavy  foliage  and  beautiful  flowers.  Occa- 
sionally we  were  obliged  to  stop  to  cut  away 
vines  and  branches,  or  to  climb  over  some  lar^re 
tree  fallen  across  the  path.  At  three  o'clock 
we  arrived  at  Karen  Khyoung,  the  first  in  the 
line  of  Christian  villages  which  now  dot  the  way 
to  the  Shan  States,  and  made  ourselves  com- 
fortable in  the  little  zayat.  No  sooner  had  we 
spread  our  mats,  and  seated  ourselves,  than  we 
were  surrounded  by  the  villagers  ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  day  was  passed  in  preaching,  singing,  and 
teaching. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  proceeded  on  our 
journey,  and  soon  began  to  climb  our  first  moun- 


134  MY    CHILD-LIFE    LI    BURMAH. 

tain,  called  Pan  Doung,  or  Flower  Mountain. 
Its  summit  was  a  fair  garden  of  the  Lord,  cov- 
ered with  a  charming  variety  of  wild  flowers, 
ferns,  and  trees.  At  noon  we  rested  by  the  side 
of  a  dashing,  mountain-stream,  the  water  of 
which  was  delightfully  cool. 

The  chief  of  Kyah  Maing,  the  next  village, 
met  us  here.  He  and  his  people  had  received 
the  teacher  coolly  on  his  first  visit,  and  demand- 
ed exorbitant  prices  for  all  supplies.  Now  he 
welcomed  him  with  the  affection  of  a  son,  and 
sent  back  at  once  for  an  elephant  to  take  up 
our  baskets. 

We  stopped  for  the  night  on  an  elevation  at 
the  foot  of  Long-Rock  Mountain,  so  called  be- 
cause of  a  large  granite  rock  upon  it,  thirty-four 
feet  high.  It  is  shaped  like  a  sugar-loaf,  and 
on  its  top  were  growing  beautiful  orchids  whose 
heavy  blossoms  we  would  fain  have  gathered. 
At  its  foot  were  a  multitude  of  ferns  and  flowers 
in  all  their  wealth  of  tropical  delicacy,  luxuri- 
ance, fragrance,  and  color ;  but  my  aunt  was 
more  moved  by  a  single  monotropa  (as  we  call 
it  in  America,  the  Indian  pipe,  but  which  the 
natives  of  Burmah  call  English  pipe)  growing 
in  an  old  paddy-field.  Such  is  the  charm  of 
early  association  and  native  land. 


ABOVE   TPIE   CLOUDS.  1 35 

While  quietly  resting  we  heard  a  distant  shout 
far  above  us.  My  father  recognized  the  call, 
and  replied.  It  was  soon  followed  by  another  ; 
and,  guided  by  responding  shouts,  a  company  of 
ten  men  made  their  way  to  our  camp.  They 
were  disciples  from  Kyah  Maing.  They  heard 
of  our  coming  on  their  return  from  their  paddy- 
fields  at  dark ;  and,  after  eating  rice,  they  came 
through  the  dense  jungle,  a  distance  of  at  least 
six  miles,  to  help  us  on  our  way  in  the  morning. 
It  was  pleasant  to  receive  such  cordial  greetings 
in  those  dark  wilds. 

After  some  hard  climbing  the  next  morning, 
we  reached  the  village,  about  three  thousand 
feet  above  the  Toungoo  plain.  There  we  found 
ourselves  literally  above  the  clouds.  A  dense 
fog  filled  the  plain  beneath.  So  it  is  in  this 
world's  plain  :  dark,  cold,  and  cheerless  are  the 
clouds  that  often  hang  over  the  soul.  It  is  im- 
possible for  us  to  see  the  bright  sunlight  above, 
where  God  perpetually  shines ;  but  we  may  rest 
assured  that  the  Sun  of  righteousness  and 
truth  will  soon  dispel  the  clouds,  and  the  clear, 
beautiful  blue  of  God's  unchanging  love,  our 
eternal  canopy,  will  be  revealed. 

The  people  were  joyful  at  our  coming;  and 
the  whole  village,  bearing  rice,  fruit,  and  flowers. 


136  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

came  out  in  procession  to  welcome  us.  Each 
one  gave  us  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand.  I  had 
seen  representatives  of  these  tribes  in  town, 
but  to  meet  them  on  their  native  hills  was  a 
new  experience.  Their  whole  appearance  was 
novel  and  striking.  They  were  stouter  and 
stronger  than  the  people  in  the  plains ;  they 
were  ruder  in  manners  and  dress,  more  timid, 
and  yet  more  confiding  and  thoughtful  of 
strangers.  The  men  wore  only  a  simple  tunic, 
reaching  to  the  knee.  The  women  wore  a  short 
skirt  of  many  colors,  and  an  upper  tunic  of  min- 
gled cotton  and  bright  red  silk,  all  of  their  own 
manufacture. 

We  took  up  our  abode  in  the  chapel,  and  re- 
mained here  four  days.  During  the  day,  men, 
women,  and  children  worked  hard  in  the  rice- 
fields  ;  but  morning  and  evening  they  gathered 
for  instruction.  Late  on  Saturday  evening  we 
heard  the  people  pounding  rice.  They  had 
been  in  the  field  all  day,  and  were  now  working 
till  near  midnight  to  prepare  their  food,  so  that 
they  might  rest  on  the  Lord's  Day. 

At  the  early  morning  prayer-meeting  between 
fifty  and  sixty  were  present.  We  met  in  the 
middle  of  the  day  for  preaching  and  Bible-study, 
and  again  in  the  evening  for  preaching.  Sev- 
eral gave  evidence  of  conversion. 


TRAVELLING   BY  ELEPHANT, 


A   BAPTISM.  139 

On  Monday  the  head-man  of  Lapet  Ing 
came  over  with  his  elephant  to  take  us  to  his 
village,  where  we  met  a  warm  reception.  We 
occupied  a  temporary  house  built  for  us  by  the 
people.  Here  we  found  a  large  company  of 
Shan  traders,  direct  from  the  Shan  country, 
going  with  their  wares,  ponies,  and  cattle  to 
Rangoon  and  other  towns  in  British  Burmah. 
These  Shans  have  been  called  "  the  merchant- 
princes  of  Burmah  ; "  but  certainly  not  on  ac- 
count of  any  princely  bearing.  Their  appear- 
ance was  uncouth  and  wild,  but  my  father 
spoke  to  them  of  the  love  of  Christ. 

On  Thursday  we  returned  to  Kyah  Maing, 
to  meet  again  the  band  of  young  converts ; 
and,  after  a  careful  examination,  thirteen  were 
accepted  as  candidates  for  baptism.  Difficulty 
was  found  in  preparing  a  baptistery.  Men 
worked  hard  to  make  a  dam  across  a  moun- 
tain-stream, but  were  disappointed  on  Sunday 
morning  to  find  the  water  would  not  stay.  It 
was  decided  that  we  must  go  a  long  distance  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountain.  After  singing  and 
prayer  at  the  chapel,  we  started  down  the  hill. 
Looking  back  from  the  foot  of  a  steep  descent, 
we  saw  the  whole  village  filing  down  the  nar- 
row path,  the  men  with  their  blankets  thrown 


140  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

loosely  about  their  shoulders,  and  the  women 
in  their  bright-colored  tunics, — all  solemn,  yet 
cheerful  and  happy.  The  baptistery  was  in  the 
bed  of  a  large,  cold  mountain-stream,  which  ran 
through  a  deep,  wild  gorge,  from  which  the 
banks  rise  almost  perpendicularly  to  a  dizzy 
height,  covered  with  heavy  timber  and  bamboo 
thickets,  through  whose  closely  locked  branches 
it  seems  as  if  the  sunshine  could  never  pene- 
trate. A  solemn  stillness  rested  here,  broken 
only  by  the  murmur  of  the  stream.  Very 
sweetly  sounded  the  voice  of  praise  and  prayer, 
as  they  rang  out  for  the  first  time  in  this  wild 
mountain  pass.  Our  hearts  melted  as  our 
dusky  brethren  and  sisters  were  buried  with 
Christ  in  baptism,  and  came  forth  to  a  new 
life  in  him. 

"  Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds 
Our  hearts  in  Christian  love." 

In  the  evening  the  Lord's  Supper  was  ad- 
ministered to  about  eighty.  The  collection 
amounted  to  fourteen  rupees,  or  seven  dollars. 
It  was  a  delightful  day  to  all. 

The  next  morning  we  bade  farewell  to  this 
warm-hearted  people.  The  chief  took  our  bas- 
kets on  his  elephant ;  and  we  went  to  Ko  Aik's 
village,  and  spent  the  night.     The  women  of 


A    MOVING    VILLAGE.  I4I 

these  villages  are  usually  shy  ;  but  the  presence 
of  the  white  lady  and  child  gave  them  assur- 
ance, and  we  always  had  a  lively  group  about  us. 

The  last  day  of  the  closing  year  found  us  at 
Shway-nan-ghyee.  It  was  pleasant  to  contrast 
our  reception  with  that  my  father  met  on  his 
first  visit.  Most  remarkable  changes  had  taken 
place.  Then  he  was  compelled  to  cut  his  way 
to  the  villages  through  tangled  thickets,  often 
thickly  planted  with  poisoned  spikes,  and  was 
received  with  spears,  bows  and  arrows,  guns, 
and  sullen  faces.  Now,  how  different !  We 
find  good  roads  and  warm  Christian  friends, 
who  hailed  our  coming  as  a  joyful  event,  and 
supplied  all  our  wants  without  price. 

Here  we  had  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  the 
removal  of  an  entire  village.  Those  who  have 
experienced  the  protracted  bustle  and  labor  of 
a  New-England  moving  of  a  single  family  will 
scarcely  believe  me  when  I  say  that  a  whole 
village  in  one  day  changed  their  place  of  resi- 
dence, and  by  night  were  resting  as  quietly  as 
if  nothing  had  transpired.  The  people  of  this 
village  suffered  greatly  from  malaria,  owing  to 
their  unhealthy  location.  My  father  helped 
them  to  select  a  suitable  place;  and  the  next 
day  they  collected  their  families,  and  prepared 


142  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

for  their  journey.  Their  baggage  was  light. 
All  the  clothes  they  possessed  were  those  they 
had  on  ;  and  their  articles  of  furniture  would  all 
be  made  new,  clean,  and  fresh,  from  portions  of 
the  bamboos  now  growing  where  in  a  few  days 
their  houses  would  stand.  A  few  of  the  men, 
armed  with  large  knives,  spears,  bows  and 
arrows,  led  the  way  with  the  droves  of  buffaloes. 
In  single  file  they  descended  the  steep  moun- 
tain-side ;  and  we  followed  on  our  ponies,  with 
our  party.  After  us  came  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, while  another  band  of  armed  men  closed 
up  the  rear. 

For  several  hours  we  descended,  sometimes 
amused  and  entertained  by  their  wild  mountain 
songs,  and  now  and  then  stopping  to  rest  in 
some  lovely  nook.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
was  a  deep,  wide  ditch  half  full  of  mud ;  and  it 
required  no  little  care  to  see  the  whole  proces- 
sion safely  across.  The  easiest  way  for  us  was 
to  make  our  ponies  leap  over.  My  father  and 
myself  landed  safely  on  the  other  side ;  but  my 
aunt's  pony  became  frightened,  and,  missing  his 
foothold,  sank  floundering  in  the  mire. 

One  of  the  natives  immediately  sprang  in,  and 
seized  the  brid^.e  to  guide  the  animal ;  but,  wheel- 
ing suddenly,  he  gave  the  man  an  unexpected 


THE   NEW    SITE.  143 

push,  SO  that  he  was  compelled  to  take  a  very 
humble  seat,  which,  though  soft,  was  not  agree- 
able. We  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  injured 
innocence  with  which  he  gazed  up  at  us  before 
he  could  recover  himself  sufficiently  to  rise. 

Having  crossed  this  Slough  of  Despond,  we 
commenced  the  ascent  of  the  mountain,  which 
was  long  and  tedious,  often  leading  over  heights 
which  seemed  almost  perpendicular. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  gained  the  site  of 
the  new  village,  a  beautiful  place.  We  looked 
down  upon  fleecy  clouds  floating  like  a  veil 
between  us  and  the  valley  where  our  feet  so 
lately  trod.  Around  us,  as  far  as  eye  could  see, 
rose  range  after  range  of  mountains,  over  which 
soft  lights  and  shadows  played. 

"  Methinks  it  should  have  been  impossible 
Not  to  love  all  things  in  a  world  so  filled, 
Where  the  breeze  warbles,  and  the  mute,  still  air 
Is  music  slumbering  on  her  instrument." 

But  the  natives  could  not  linger  to  admire  the 
lovely  landscape.  They  turned  their  faces  to 
the  waving  forest  of  bamboos,  where  they  must 
prepare  themselves  shelter  for  the  night.  They 
began  to  fell  trees,  and  soon  had  a  space  cleared, 
where  they  constructed  little  bamboo  booths  for 


144  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

immediate  use.  In  the  evening,  gathered  in 
groups,  they  seated  themselves  upon  the  ground 
around  the  different  fires.  The  women  had  been 
busy  gathering  the  long  dry  grass,  and  were 
now  tying  it  to  strips  of  split  bamboo  stems 
about  three  or  four  feet  in  length,  that  they 
might  be  in  readiness  to  roof  the  houses,  which 
must  be  begun  on  the  morrow.  The  men  took 
tall,  slender  bamboos,  and  splitting  them  into 
thin,  smooth  strips  about  three  inches  in  width, 
wove  them  in  and  out  to  form  a  matting,  which 
they  would  use  for  the  walls. 

We  slept  that  night  on  the  ground,  lulled  to 
rest  by  the  wind  in  the  trees  and  by  the  buzz 
and  hum  of  the  myriad  insects  ;  and  all  night 
long  the  twinkling  stars  looked  at  us  through 
our  leafy  bower,  and  kept  their  silent  watch. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  men  went  to  work 
in  the  forest,  while  the  women  prepared  the 
breakfast.  For  utensils  they  turned  to  their 
never-failing  friend,  the  bamboo.  Selecting  one 
about  six  inches  in  diameter,  they  divided  it  just 
below  each  joint,  thus  obtaining  a  vessel  two  or 
three  feet  in  length,  open  at  the  top,  perfectly 
tight,  and  possessing  in  itself  a  sweet,  delicate 
flavor,  which  is  no  detriment  to  the  food.  Fill- 
ing this  one-third  full  of  rice,  with  a  little  water, 


THE   NEW   CHAPEL.  I45 

they  placed  it  in  the  fire,  resting  it  in  an  inclined 
position  on  a  horizontal  pole.  The  bamboo, 
being  green,  does  not  burn.  When  the  rice  is 
cooked,  they  cut  the  bamboo  open  lengthwise, 
and,  laying  open  the  two  parts,  had  their  rice 
all  ready.  It  was  a  breakfast  which  cannot  be 
equalled  in  this  country. 

Among  those  tribes  which  had  begun  to  re- 
ceive Christian  ideas,  it  was  pleasant  to  notice 
their  respect  for  God  evinced  in  many  ways. 
In  building  their  village,  for  instance,  they 
erected  God's  house  before  they  commenced 
their  own. 

The  chapel  was  to  be  the  centre  of  the  vil- 
lage. They  first  placed  in  the  ground  four  tall 
bamboo  posts.  About  fifteen  feet  from  the 
ground,  they  fastened  to  these  posts,  on  each 
side,  other  bamboos  placed  horizontally.  Across 
these  they  laid  smaller  pieces  of  bamboos,  fas- 
tened closely  together  by  natural  strings  of  reeds 
growing  abundantly  with  the  bamboos  and  grass. 
This  is  the  floor.  The  walls  were  made  by  tying 
to  the  upright  posts  the  bamboo  matting  already 
mentioned.  For  the  roof  they  fastened  the  dry 
thatch,  prepared  by  the  women,  to  the  bamboo 
rafters,  and  the  chapel  was  done. 

The  native  houses  were  made  in  the  same 
general  way. 


146  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

There  is  hardly  a  tree  in  the  world  so  useful 
and  necessary  to  man  as  the  bamboo  to  these 
mountaineers.  It  often  grows  in  symmetrical 
clusters,  varying  in  diameter  at  their  base  from 
six  to  thirty  feet  or  more.  For  about  eight  or 
ten  feet  from  the  ground,  each  of  these  clusters 
presents  a  form  nearly  cylindrical ;  after  which 
they  begin  gradually  to  swell  outwards,  each 
bamboo  assuming  for  itself  a  graceful  curve, 
and  rising  often  to  the  height  of  eighty  or  one 
hundred  feet,  the  extreme  end  drooping  lightly. 
It  bears  fruit  at  long  intervals,  and  the  leaves 
are  narrow  and  small.  Articles  of  furniture 
are  made  from  it,  also  umbrellas,  hats,  musical 
instruments,  baskets,  cups,  brooms,  pipes,  pens, 
bows  and  arrows,  and  wicks  of-  candles.  Its 
fine  fibre  is  made  into  twine ;  its  leaves  are 
employed  as  a  cloak  in  wet  weather.  The  pulp 
is  formed  into  paper,  tender  shoots  are  boiled 
and  eaten,  or  made  into  pickles  and  sweetmeats, 
and  its  thick  juice  is  said  to  be  an  excellent 
medicine.  Indeed,  it  would  be  more  difBcult 
to  say  what  the  bamboo  is  not  used  for,  than 
what  it  is.  Through  life  the  native  is  depend- 
ent upon  it  for  support,  he  is  borne  upon  it  to 
his  last  resting-place,  and  its  waving  branches 
mark  his  tomb. 


A    KAREN    CHAPEL. 


147 


MOUNG    DOO.  149 

It  did  not  take  our  villagers  long  to  become 
established  in  their  new  homes,  and  they  were 
soon  ready  to  work  in  their  rice-fields. 

We  were  surprised  one  night  by  a  visit  from 
Moung  Doo,  a  savage  old  chief,  who  lived  a  dis- 
tance of  two  days'  journey  from  Shway-nan- 
ghyee,  and  who  had  long  been  the  terror  of  the 
country.  He  had  previously  made  friendship 
with  my  father.  He  reached  this  village  at 
dark,  and  said  that  he  dreamed  the  white 
teacher  had  arrived,  and  came  to  see  if  it  were 
true.  He  manifested  the  greatest  delight  on 
seeing  the  teacher,  taking  hold  of  him  with 
both  hands,  and  shaking  him  heartily,  exclaim- 
ing, '' Ro-ro-ro''  ("Good,  good,  good").  He 
repeated  this  salutation  several  times  during 
the  evening. 

On  the  sabbath  our  worship  was  held  in  open 
air,  the  congregation  sitting  upon  the  ground 
in  a  half-circle.  Never  was  there  a  more  atten- 
tive audience.  At  the  second  service  my  father 
spoke  to  them  for  two  hours,  then  they  bowed 
reverently  in  prayer ;  and  when  the  hymn 
**  Come  to  Jesus,  just  now,"  was  sung,  young 
and  old  joined  in  the  chorus,  the  children  cov- 
ering their  faces  with  their  hands,  that  they 
might  not  be  seen.     Their  pastor,  Th'rah  Tah 


150  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

Dee,  had  been  very  successful  in  teaching  them 
to  sing. 

After  visiting  other  villages,  we  returned  to 
Lapet  Ing,  where  my  father  left  my  aunt  and 
myself  for  a  few  days.  We  staid  in  the  house 
of  one  of  the  native  Christians  —  if  I  may  dig- 
nify by  the  name  of  house  what  seemed  a  large 
box,  elevated  upon  bamboo  posts,  ten  or  twelve 
feet  from  the  ground.  The  interior  contained 
a  single  large  room,  with  no  opening,  save  the 
entrance,  for  the  admission  of  light  or  air,  and 
no  chimney.  It  was  occupied  by  five  families,  — 
fourteen  persons  besides  children.  Each  fam- 
ily had  a  fireplace  of  its  own  ;  and,  as  the 
nights  were  chilly,  the  fires  were  often  kept 
burning  until  near  morning,  the  smoke  mean- 
while creeping  along  the  rafters,  penetrating 
every  corner,  settling  to  the  floor,  and  bringing 
abundant,  though  griefless,  tears  to  our  eyes. 
The  only  ornaments  were  lovely  cobwebs  spun 
in  the  corners,  and  festoons  of  soot  which  hung 
from  ceiling  and  wall  with  a  natural  grace. 
The  most  cheery  corner  was  given  to  us,  and 
with  our  curtains  and  mats  we  made  ourselves 
quite  comfortable. 

One  night  we  were  awakened  by  a  great  chat- 
tering and  laughing,  and,  on  inquiring  the  cause, 


MOUNTAIN    HOUSE. 


151 


MYSTERIES    OF    COOKING.  1 53 

discovered  that  there  had  been  an  addition  to 
the  family,  and  we  were  lulled  to  sleep  again  by 
the  cries  of  the  new  arrival.  We  were  sur- 
rounded every  day  by  women  and  children,  and 
we  hope  some  seeds  of  truth  were  planted  in 
their  minds. 

We  had  taught  a  young  Shan  Christian,  who 
accompanied  us,  to  prepare  our  simple  meals. 
One  day  we  thought  we  should  enjoy  a  change, 
and,  instead  of  our  usual  rice  and  curry  for 
breakfast,  would  have  grilled  chicken.  We 
called  Toonlah,  and  explained  to  him  that  we 
were  weary  of  ''hen''  (curry),  and  v/ould  like  a 
chicken  grilled.  He  assented,  and  hastened  out 
to  meet  our  wishes.  After  waiting  an  hour  we 
felt  hungry,  and  went  out  to  find  him.  There 
he  sat  on  the  ground  before  the  fire,  with  the 
plucked  chicken  in  his  hands,  his  face  wearing 
a  most  doleful  expression.  He  looked  up,  as 
we  approached,  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  said, 
"Grill  ter  ket-the-go,  hen  ter  Iwai  deh,"  ''To 
grill  is  very  hard,  but  to  make  curry  is  very 
easy."     We  allowed  him  to  make  the  curry. 

After  my  father  rejoined  us,  we  visited  several 
other  villages,  among  them  that  of  Neeghyan,  a 
powerful  Geckho  chief.  On  one  of  my  father's 
visits  there,  he  found  Neeghyan  and  his  brother 


154  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

very  ill  with  cholera.  The  brother  was  then 
past  hope  of  recovery ;  but  my  father  undertook 
to  save  the  chief.  '*0  teacher!"  said  he,  "if 
you  will  only  save  me,  I  will  build  a  chapel,  and 
have  a  teacher ;  and  we  will  all  learn  your  law, 
and  worship  the  living  God."  Our  God  blessed 
the  remedies,  answered  prayer,  and  the  chief 
recovered.  He  kept  his  promise,  built  a  chapel, 
and  came  down  to  Toungoo  after  Moung  Ong, 
as  before  described.  After  some  months  of 
study,  he  came  to  town  again,  and  with  earnest- 
ness said,  "Teacher,  this  religion  is  good.  I 
want  you  to  come  up,  and  baptize  my  whole  vil- 
lage." Interesting  groups  were  from  time  to 
time  converted  and  baptized,  but  the  chief  had 
recently  died.  His  wife  and  brother  were  rul- 
ing in  his  place,  and  received  us  kindly. 

We  learned  some  of  the  circumstances  re- 
specting Neeghyan's  burial,  which  were  interest- 
ing. For  the  coffin,  a  tree  was  felled,  a  slab 
was  cut  off  from  one  side,  and  it  was  then  hol- 
lowed out  to  receive  the  body.  They  had  bur- 
ied with  him  eight  pants,  eight  jackets,  and 
eight  turbans,  saying,  "So  may  he  have  plenty 
of  clothing  in  the  world  to  which  he  has  gone." 
Six  dahs  (knives),  one  silver-plated,  three  spears, 
and    five   guns  were   added :  so    may   he   have 


FUNERAL    GIFTS.  1 55 

plenty  of  weapons.  One  keezecy  one  gong,  fif- 
teen rupees,  two  strings  of  precious  stones,  and 
three  pairs  of  silver  bangles  :  so  may  he  abound 
in  these  things  in  the  world  to  which  he  has 
gone. 

They  killed  four  buffaloes,  and  placed  the 
heads  in  the  grave ;  also  the  heads  and  feet  of 
fourteen  pigs  and  six  fowls,  that  he  might  not 
lack  for  food  in  his  new  abode.  At  first  we 
were  surprised  at  this ;  for  we  hoped  he,  and 
others  in  the  village,  had  accepted  Christ  as 
their  portion  here  and  forever.  But  we  soon 
found,  that,  while  believing  in  Jesus  for  the  for- 
giveness of  sins  and  the  saving  of  their  souls,  it 
seemed  too  much  to  them  that  he  should  supply 
all  their  wants.  They  had  yet  to  learn  that  in 
him  "all  fulness  dwells." 

They  were  not  very  unlike  many  professing 
Christians  here,  who  seem  willing  enough  to 
have  Christ  forgive  their  sins  and  save  their 
souls,  but  wish  to  spend  all  their  time  here  in 
adding  to  their  possessions,  beautifying  their 
homes,  and  making  and  arranging  their  dress. 
These  more  simple  natives  thought  only  to  pro- 
vide for  the  future,  as  well  as  the  present. 

The  people  here  are  profusely  ornamented. 
The  chief's  wife  took  my  aunt  and  me  aside,  and 


156  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

displayed  her  jewels.  She  had  ornaments  for 
the  ears,  of  gold,  silver,  and  brass ;  chains  of 
beads,  precious  stones,  and  silver  coins,  for  the 
neck  ;  bracelets  for  the  arms  ;  bangles  and  brass 
ornaments  for  the  ankles  and  limbs.  We  spoke 
of  some  articles  as  very  pretty,  when,  with  a 
little  toss  of  the  head,  she  replied,  **  Oh,  no  !  they 
are  not  pretty."  She  next  called  our  attention 
to  some  nice  blankets,  by  saying  they  were  not 
very  good ;  but  would  doubtless  have  been  dis- 
appointed, had  we  expressed  the  same  opinion. 
At  last  she  brought  forward  a  box  containing  a 
hymn-book,  several  tracts,  and  portions  of  the 
Scriptures.  These  were  treasures  indeed,  which 
she  was  learning  to  prize. 

The  whole  village  came  together  in  the  even- 
ing, and  listened  attentively  to  the  preaching. 
At  the  close,  the  chief's  wife  turned  to  the  peo- 
ple, and  told  them  "to  consider  what  had  been 
said,  for  the  words  were  delightful." 

We  then  visited  Bo-ghy-ee,  the  Geckho  chief 
mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter.  He  was 
a  fine-looking  old  man  of  about  eighty  years  of 
age.  His  bearing  was  majestic  and  dignified. 
He  said,  "  I  am  an  old  man,  but  I  want  to  learn 
your  law." 

We  thought  that  among  the  Geckho  women 


ORNAMENTS.  157 

the  love  of  finery  had  reached  its  utmost  limit ; 
for  in  addition  to  strings  of  beads,  glass,  and 
buttons  around  the  neck,  and  ear-rings  and  fin- 
ger-rings, they  wore  coils  of  brass  wire  as  large 
as  the  little  finger,  reaching  from  the  ankle  to 
the  knee,  seven  pounds  weight  sometimes  on 
each  foot.  But  here  at  Boghyee's,  we  found 
some  Padounsfs  who  had  been  driven  from  their 
villages,  and  had  taken  refuge  here.  Among 
them  the  mania  for  brass  wire  was  much  more 
evident.  Besides  the  heaviest  leg-ornaments, 
they  commence  in  infancy  to  coil  this  brass  or 
lead  wire  around  the  neck,  increasing  the  num- 
ber of  coils  from  time  to  time.  On  an  adult  I 
counted  thirteen  coils  on  the  neck  and  eight 
spreading  on  the  shoulders.  These  are  never 
removed ;  and  the  wearers  are  obliged  to  carry 
the  head,  with  chin  elevated,  in  such  a  position 
that  they  cannot  see  the  ground  on  which  they 
tread.  The  weight  of  brass  on  one  person  is 
often  forty  pounds.  My  aunt  and  I  gazed  at 
them,  and  they  at  us,  with  mutual  astonishment. 
We  were  the  first  white  women  they  had  seen. 
They  covered  their  faces  with  their  hands, 
peeped  at  us  between  their  fingers,  keeping  up 
a  constant  chatter,  and  uttering  queer  exclama- 
tions.     At  length  they  grew  bold   enough   to 


158  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

draw  near  us,  and  touch  our  hands  and  faces  to 
see  if  the  white  would  not  rub  off.  They  won- 
dered  if  we  were  so  white  all  over,  and  actually- 
asked  me  to  take  off  my  shoes  and  stockings. 
I  told  them  it  was  not  our  custom  to  remove 
them  before  people,  and  they  did  not  urge  it. 
Natives  of  the  East  are  very  polite,  and  never 
ask  us  to  do  what  we  say  is  not  our  custom. 

While  we  were  at  this  village,  Boghyee  offered 
to  purchase  me  for  one  keezee,  while  his  nephew 
offered  three  keezees.  A  keezee  is  a  kind  of 
gong  made  of  bell-metal,  and  worth  from  fifty 
to  six  hundred  rupees.  They  are  manufactured 
by  Shans,  and  are  sometimes  inlaid  with  gold: 
such  are  very  handsome  and  expensive.  These 
mountaineers  invest  their  property  in  keezees. 

These  tribes  are  very  different  from  the  Bur- 
mans  and  Shans,  who  are  Buddhists.  Instead 
of  worshipping  idols  of  wood  and  stone,  these 
tribes  pay  homage  to  spirits,  both  good  and  evil, 
which  they  believe  to  be  constantly  hovering 
around  them.  They  believe  in  one  supreme 
good  spirit  and  one  evil  spirit,  each  attended  by 
countless  myriads  of  subordinates.  Whenever 
illness  or  misfortune  attends  them,  they  consider 
it  a  punishment  for  some  misdemeanor,  and  im- 
mediately offer  some  costly  sacrifice  to  appease 


BLESSINGS   OF    THE    GOSPEL.  1 59 

the  spirit's  wrath.  One  old  man,  whose  wife 
was  very  ill,  said  to  my  father,  "  I  have  offered 
one  buffalo,  ten  hogs,  five  dogs,  and  thirty  fowls  ; 
but  the  nats  are  still  angry  with  me,  and  my 
wife  does  not  recover.  Now  pray  to  your  God, 
and  see  if  he  is  able  to  save  her."  He  did 
pray,  and  gave  her  medicine,  and  in  a  short 
time  she  was  much  better.  When  the  old  man 
saw  her  returning  to  health,  he  exclaimed, 
"Teacher,  I'll  never  worship  the  nats  again! 
I  will  trust  in  God  and  medicine." 

Although  uncivilized  and  warlike  as  a  people, 
they  possess  many  noble  qualities ;  and  those 
who  enjoy  the  privileges  afforded  by  the  mission 
schools  often  astonish  the  teachers  by  their  rapid 
progress,  sometimes  proving  themselves  capable 
of  profound  thought  and  reasoning.  They  are 
very  fond  of  music  ;  and,  although  they  have  no 
musical  system  of  their  own,  they  learn  very 
quickly  to  sing  the  Christian  hymns  taught  by 
the  missionaries. 

We,  who  have  enjoyed  the  blessings  of  Chris- 
tianity all  our  lives,  cannot  realize  the  joyful 
changes  which  it  brings  to  these  benighted  ones. 
The  chief  of  Shway-nan-ghyee  said  to  us,  **  Be- 
fore the  gospel  was  brought  to  us,  we  never  slept 
in  our  village  at  this  season  of  the  year.     We 


l6o  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

were  not  afraid  during  the  rains ;  but,  when  the 
dry  season  came,  we  always  hid  about  in  the 
jungles." 

They  lived  in  a  state  of  constant  fear,  always 
going  well  armed,  and  sleeping  upon  their  arms 
at  night. 

In  a  letter  to  "The  Missionary  Magazine,"  in 
March,  1863,  my  father  writes,  "The  divine 
light  is  spreading ;  it  has  already  reached  some 
of  the  Shan  mountains,  and  the  time  is  not  far 
distant  when  it  will  shoot  across  the  country  to 
the  land  of  Sinim.  '  Behold,  these  shall  come 
from  far,  and  lo,  these  from  the  north  and  from 
the  west,  and  these  from  the  land  of  Sinim ' 
(Isa.  xlix.  12).  It  is  evident  [that  Sinim  means 
China,  and  that  the  Toungoo  mountains  and 
these  Shan  mountains,  as  well  as  the  sea,  are  to 
be  made  the  Lord's  way  for  introducing  the  gos- 
pel to  the  great  empire  of  China.  Hitherto 
Sinim  has  been  reached  only  by  the  sea,  and  a 
few  fires  have  been  kindled  on  the  seashore. 
When  the  Lord  makes  all  these  mountains  a 
way,  and  the  approach  from  the  west  as  well  as 
from  the  east  and  south,  then  the  Celestial 
Empire  will  hear  the  thunder  of  God's  law  '  all 
around  the  heavens,'  and  the  time  of  her  redemp- 
tion will   be   near.     Commercial   enterprise   is 


THE   OPEN    DOOR.  l6l 

urging  its  way  through  Burmah  and  the  Shan 
States,  to  get  hold  of  the  wealth  of  Western 
China.  Various  plans  have  been  laid,  roads 
projected,  exploring  tours  set  on  foot,  all  with 
the  conviction  that  China  can  be  reached  advan- 
tageously from  the  west.  Must  it  always  be 
true  that  the  men  of  this  world  are  wiser  than 
the  children  of  light  ?  Should  we  not  be  equally 
anxious  to  carry  the  gospel  to  Western  China  ? 
And  can  we  not  make  these  Shan  and  Karen 
mountains  a  way  } " 

Now  a  wide  and  effectual  door  is  open  to  us. 
Who  of  us  will  grasp  the  banner  of  our  King, 
and  hasten  to  take  the  land  in  his  name  ?  Who 
.will  carry  on  the  charge  till  final  victory  is  won, 
unless  the  young  people  of  America  awake  to 
the  responsibility  that  is  resting  upon  them  ? 
As  I  look  upon  the  great  work  already  accom- 
plished by  our  missionary  organization,  I  feel 
that  there  is  no  more  glorious  occupation  to  be 
found  than  that  of  carrying  the  refreshing  waters 
of  life  to  those  whose  parched  and  thirsty  lips 
might  never  quaff  them  from  other  hands  than 
ours. 

In  October  of  1865,  my  father  wrote,  "The 
Missionary  Union  is  abundantly  worthy  of  all 
the   confidehce   and   support   it    receives,   and 


l62  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

vastly  more ;  for  it  is  doing  a  great  work,  —  a 
work  exceeding,  in  the  grandeur  of  its  propor- 
tions and  its  far-reaching  influence,  the  highest 
conceptions  of  its  warmest  friends.  Have  the 
friends  of  the  Union  ever  considered  in  how 
many  dialects  and  with  how  many  voices  the 
Union  preaches  the  gospel  every  Sunday,  and 
perhaps  every  day  in  the  year?  In  Burmah 
alone,  the  Union  preaches  in  at  least  twelve 
dialects,  and  I  dare  say  the  whole  number  ex- 
ceeds twenty.  Take  into  account  also  the 
numerous  preachers  that  speak  in  these  various 
dialects,  including  the  printed  pages  that  pro- 
claim the  way  of  life,  and  the  Union's  gospel 
heralds  would  be  numbered  by  hundreds  and 
thousands. 

"  If  a  preacher  were  found  who  could  use 
freely  twenty  different  languages,  and  whose 
heart  burned  within  him  to  preach  the  gospel  in 
those  languages,  and  only  asked  to  be  fed  and 
clothed  and  transported  from  place  to  place  that 
he  might  do  so,  who  would  not  feel  that  it  was 
very  important  to  give  him  an  ample  support  ? 
Who  would  not  covet  the  privilege  of  giving 
something  to  help  him  in  the  good  work  ? 
Such  a  preacher  is  the  Missionary  Union.  If 
an  angel  were  to  fly  in  the  visible  heavens  with 


AN   ANGEL    OF   LIGHT.  163 

the  everlasting  gospel,  proclaiming  the  way  of 
life  in  a  score  of  languages  and  with  a  thou- 
sand voices,  who  would  not  say,  '  God  speed  thee 
in  thy  glorious  flight !  *  Who  would  not  be  will- 
ing to  give  him  wings  ?  Such  an  angel  is  the 
Missionary  Union.  These  languages  and  voices 
are  being  multiplied,  —  the  fame  and  influence 
of  this  many-tongued  preacher  are  annually 
widening.  Let  contributions  also  be  multi- 
plied, and  let  the  resources  of  the  Union  be 
commensurate  with  the  importance  and  gran- 
deur of  its  work !  God  grant  it,  for  Christ's 
sake ! " 


164  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Last  Days  in   Burmah.  —  Return   to   America.  —  Mis- 
sionaries' Children. 

While  on  this  journey  my  father  became 
very  ill,  and  we  were  obliged  to  turn  our  faces 
homewards.  The  long  journey  over  mountains 
and  through  narrow  passes  was  wearisome  even 
for  a  well  person  ;  but  for  an  invalid,  unable  to 
partake  of  any  nourishment  except  a  little  rice- 
water,  and  scarcely  able  to  sit  upon  his  pony,  it 
was  exceedingly  difficult.  Our  spirits  lost  their 
buoyancy,  and  we  failed  to  mark  the  beauty  by 
the  way.  We  were  filled  with  the  one  idea  of 
reaching  home  in  safety,  which  our  kind  heaven- 
ly Father  permitted  us  to  do. 

Sad  were  the  days  that  followed  our  return. 
Several  of  the  native  disciples  were  ill.  Sick- 
ness entered  our  school  and  family,  and  my  dar- 
ling brother  Willie  died.  My  father's  illness 
increased,  and  the  physician  said  he  must  leave 
the  country.  My  parents'  hearts  had  long  quiv- 
ered with  the  thought  that  I  must  soon  be  sent 


THE   DEPARTURE.  16$ 

to  America ;  and  now,  if  my  father  must  go,  it 
would  be  the  most  favorable  opportunity  for 
me,  so  much  better  than  to  go  with  strangers. 
We  hastily  made  arrangements  to  go  to  Ran- 
goon. As  the  physician's  verdict  there  was  the 
same  as  in  Toungoo,  there  was  no  alternative 
but  to  sail  for  America  as  soon  as  possible. 

Bitter  tears  fell  as  swift  fingers  fashioned  the 
garments  needed  for  the  voyage.  Anguished 
hearts  made  earnest  supplication  to  the  ever- 
present  Friend,  who  alone  can  sustain  in  the 
hour  of  trial. 

But  why  linger  upon  these  painful  scenes  ? 
The  last  hour  came,  the  good-bys  were  said, 
and  from  the  deck  of  the  ship  we  watched  the 
little  boat  that  carried  back  to  shore  mother 
and  aunt  and  brother.  They  returned  to  carry 
on  the  work :  we  turned  our  faces  towards  the 
trackless  ocean. 

Shut  up  as  I  had  been  to  the  plain  dwellings 
of  the  missionaries  and  the  rude  huts  of  the 
natives,  the  steamer  seemed  to  me  fit  for  a  pal- 
ace, and  the  broad  ocean  and  blue  sky  filled  my 
soul  with  a  sense  of  ever-varying  beauty.  I  re- 
joiced in  the  grandeur  of  the  storm  encountered 
in  the  Indian  Ocean,  the  sight  of  the  canal  then 
in  process    of   construction   at    Suez,   and   the 


l66  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

glimpse  at  the  Pyramids,  and  the  marble 
mosques  of  Cairo.  I  was  amused  with  the  don- 
keys and  their  drivers  at  Alexandria,  and  de- 
lighted with  our  short  pause  at  Messina,  with 
the  view  of  the  coast  of  Sicily,  and  Mount 
Etna,  and  Stromboli  then  smoking  from  its  pent- 
up  fires ;  with  our  passage  between  Scylla  and 
Charybdis,  and  our  glimpse  at  the  home  of 
Garibaldi. 

Another  storm  met  us  in  the  Mediterranean, 
but  we  arrived  safely  at  Marseilles. 

I  cannot  describe  the  emotions  with  which  I 
gazed  upon  the  peculiarities  of  civilized  lands, 
in  France  and  England  :  the  people  everywhere 
wearing  full  suits  of  clothes,  the  good  roads, 
the  convenient,  elegant  carriages,  the  beautiful 
homes,  the  magnificent  public  buildings,  and 
landscapes  cultivated  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  As  I  think  of  them  now,  I  recall  the 
question  of  another  little  child,  not  a  mission- 
ary's, "Is  it  dark  in  the  country  where  you 
lived } "  and  I  answer  her,  '*  Yes,  little  one, 
dark,  —  not  for  want  of  sunlight,  but  for  want 
of  heart-light." 

The  broad  Atlantic  seemed  but  a  little  step 
between  us  and  America.  The  Fourth  of  July 
saw  us  in  New  York,  and  the  next  day  we  were 


PECULIAR   TRIALS.  16/ 

among  dear  friends.  The  fairy-like  land  of 
America,  with  its  schools,  its  churches,  and 
many  wonders,  was  at  last  a  reality  to  the  mis- 
sionary child ;  and  she  felt,  among  its  throngs  of 
people,  like  a  grain  of  sand  on  the  seashore. 

The  reader  here  may  pause,  and  say,  "  I  do 
not  find  much  'child-life'  in  this  book."  True. 
A  missionary's  child  has  very  little  real  child- 
life.  People  in  this  country  can  hardly  under- 
stand how  peculiar  the  life  of  a  missionary's 
child  is.  It  is  begun  with  enfeebled  physical 
conditions.  The  first  few  years  are  spent  in 
the  midst  of  heathenism.  His  playmates,  if 
any,  are  native  children.  He  has  none  of  the 
opportunities  of  a  Christian  land.  He  has  no 
instruction  but  that  which  his  parents,  already 
overburdened  with  work,  can  give;  and  the 
shadow  of  the  coming  separation  hangs  over 
every  day's  experience.  When  the  time  is  fixed, 
who  can  describe  the  emotions  of  the  weeks 
that  follow .?  the  dread,  the  fear,  the  heart- 
rebellings  of  the  child;  the  scalding  tears,  the 
prayers,  the  heart-breaking  struggles  of  the  par- 
ents. Then  comes  the  hour  of  parting.  The 
last  loving  words  are  said,  the  last  embrace  is 
given,  the  last  united  petition  laid  before  the 
throne  of  a  covenant-keeping  God,  and  the  ves- 


l68  MY   CHILD-LIFE   IN    BURMAH. 

sel  sails.  In  vain  do  the  children  lean  over  the 
vessel's  side,  and  cry,  "Speak  to  me  once  more:'* 
only  the  waves  reply. 

Mothers,  can  you  form  any  idea  of  the  anguish 
of  those  loving  hearts,  and  of  the  strange  deso- 
lation of  the  child  ?  Do  you  sympathize  with 
them  as  they  bear  this  trial  "for  Jesus'  sake"  ^ 

Through  the  dreary  weeks  that  follow,  in  the 
midst  of  storms  and  sea-sickness  and  exhaus- 
tion, in  perils  by  sea  and  perils  by  land,  how  the 
heart  yearns  for  the  soothing  presence  and  ten- 
der  hand  of  the  mother,  and  for  the  strong,  lov- 
ing protection  of  the  father!  But  the  journey 
ends  ;  and  the  missionary  child  treads  upon  the 
soil  so  dear  to  his  parents,  but  so  new  and 
strange  to  him. 

Here  he  occupies  an  anomalous  position. 

Children  in  this  country  are  often  compelled 
by  circumstances  to  go  from  home  to  obtain 
their  education,  or  enter  upon  other  pursuits ; 
but  they  carry  with  them  sweet  remembrances 
of  a  home  to  which  they  may  return  in  the  hour 
of  need,  and  find  a  glad  welcome.  It  takes  but 
a  few  days,  at  most,  for  them  to  return. 

But  the  missionary's  child  is  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land.  Oceans  and  continents  lie  be- 
tween  him   and   his   home ;  weeks   or  months 


COMPENSATIONS.  1 69 

must  pass  before  even  a  letter  can  reach  him. 
Too  often  his  sore  heart  is  wounded  by  com- 
ments upon  his  outlandish,  unfashionable  ap- 
pearance. Too  often  he  is  caressed  and  even 
flattered,  not  for  his  own,  but  his  parents'  sake. 
Questions,  too,  are  asked  which  pierce  his  heart. 
New  scenes  and  untried  paths  are  before  him, 
which  he  must  meet  and  pass  alone.  In  health, 
in  sickness,  and  in  death,  he  is  peculiarly  alone. 
These  are  some  of  the  trials  of  missionaries* 
children ;  but  there  are  compensations  also. 
The  Lord  of  hosts  has  not  forsaken  them,  the 
God  of  Jacob  is  still  their  refuge.  The  earnest 
prayers  of  the  parents,  who  thus  sacrifice  their 
all  for  Christ's  sake,  are  not  unheard.  They 
reach  the  ear  of  the  Father,  ''  who  so  loved  the 
world  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,"  to 
endure  sorrow  and  shame  such  as  mortal  has 
never  known,  that  he  might  redeem  the  world 
unto  himself.  His  heart  beats  in  tender  sym- 
prthy  with  the  torn  and  bleeding  hearts  of  the 
parents,  who  thus,  in  their  part,  "fill  up  the 
measure  of  Christ's  sufferings."  He  heals  their 
wounds,  and  strengthens  their  faith.  He  cares 
for  their  children,  I  believe,  with  a  peculiar  ten- 
derness. He  calls  them  all  "by  name,"  and 
hides  them  in  the  secret  of   his  pavilion.     He 


170  MY    CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

makes  the  crooked  places  straight,  and  the 
rough  places  smooth,  before  them.  He  gives 
them  friends  and  educational  advantages. 

It  is  now  nearly  seventy  years  since  our  mis- 
sions began ;  and  the  children  of  our  missiona- 
ries are  scattered  in  various  parts  of  our  country, 
and  are  engaged  in  every  variety  of  honorable 
pursuit.  At  least  twenty-five  have  returned  to 
the  mission-field.  Others  are  studying  with 
that  in  view. 

Many  have  fallen  victims  to  the  climate,  and 
are  buried  on  mission  ground.  There  is  scarcely 
a  missionary  mother  who  cannot  count  one  or 
more  little  graves.  The  first  Christian  grave  at 
Bahmo  was  that  of  a  missionary's  child.  In 
Burmah  alone,  we  can  count  at  least  fifty  little 
ones  who  have  died.  *'  Little  Maria  sleeps  by 
the  side  of  her  mother."  Many  are  buried  side 
by  side  with  native  Christians  ;  some  are  sleep- 
ing in  the  solitary  wilds  of  the  jungle,  with 
nought  but  the  waving  branches  of  the  bamboo 
to  mark  their  resting-place. 

Which  is  the  more  bitter  cup,  to  lay  the  loved 
one  in  his  last  little  bed,  when  we  know  he  is 
safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus  ;  or  to  send  him  home 
to  a  strange  land,  where  he  must  bear  tempta- 
tions and  trials  without  a  parent's  guiding  hand  ? 


HOME   FOR   MISSIONARIES     CHILDREN.       I/I 

"  In  Ramah  was  there  a  voice  heard,  lamenta- 
tion and  weeping  and  great  mourning ;  Rachel 
weeping  for  her  children,  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted, because  they  are  not."  In  Ramah,  not 
in  Burmah.  The  missionary  mother  utters  no 
complaint  when  her  loved  ones  are  taken.  She 
turns  to  her  labor  for  others,  and  "  the  days  go 
on." 

But  the  thought  of  sending  her  little  ones 
home  weighs  like  a  heavy  burden  upon  her 
heart.  How  shall  the  children  be  provided  for 
in  a  distant  land  ?  is  the  question  which  con- 
stantly returns.  In  the  past,  many  precious 
homes  have  been  opened  to  these  children,  and 
friends  have  kindly  given  them  a  place  among 
their  own.  But  sometimes  parents  have  been 
obliged  to  return  to  the  field,  leaving  their  chil- 
dren without  a  settled  home;  though  this  may 
now  be  avoided  by  the  opportunities  of  the 
'*  Home  for  Missionaries'  Children,"  recently 
opened.  It  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  motherly 
sympathies  of  the  Woman's  Foreign  Missionary 
Society ;  and  may  the  blessing  of  God  rest  upon 
it! 

In  addition  to  the  unavoidable  anguish,  mis- 
sionaries are  often  compelled,  on  leaving  their 
children,  to  contend  with  bitter  opposition  on 


1/2  MY   CHILD-LIFE    IN    BURMAH. 

the  part  of  those  who  should  be  their  sympa- 
thizers and  friends.  Reproaches  are  heaped 
upon  them,  which  render  their  heavy  burden 
almost  unbearable.  Oh,  rather,  let  every  Chris- 
tian worker  feel  the  tenderest  sympathy  for 
these  parents,  help  them  by  their  prayers,  and 
do  all  in  their  power  to  render  the  lives  of  mis- 
sionary children  happy  and  successful ! 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

g        This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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General  Library 

University  of  California 

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